P is for Parenthood (and Pain)
by Cinders to Ashes
Summary: When an unexpected turn of events leaves Edward stranded in the desert with his not-so innocent baby brother, an annoying Xingese prince, and worst of all his condescending flame-happy superior, the four must find their way home without a cent to their names and no recollection of the night before. ParentalRoyed, Edwin, Royai, Almei, Lingfan
1. A is for Adrift

Chapter 1

A/N I don't own FMA

Somewhere in the middle of, well, _nowhere…_

"Dammit Al, where are you?" a certain golden haired alchemist howled as a gust of hot wind blew across the barren desert. He let out a few choice curse words as a particularly strong wind scattered sand into his eyes.

Stupid desert. Stupid sun. Stupid sand. Edward scowled. If there was anything he hated more at this moment, it was how incredibly lost he felt against the seemingly never-ending landscape of dunes that surrounded him. He could've sworn that the sun was beating down on him with the force of a thousand philosophers stones- it was too damn hot. And where was Al? He felt as if he had been walking in circles for the past three hours, it was damn near impossible to tell.

"Al, if you don't come out right now, I will transmute Mr. Snuggles into a handbag!" He knew it was one hell of a dirty trick to pull, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Ed smirked. If it was anything that could convince Al to do what he wanted, it was the empty threats Edward insisted he would mercilessly carry out upon Al's newly adopted feline companion dubbed "Mr. Snuggles." A sweet-enough looking orange tabby to the eye, but put _one_ measly finger to its clementine-colored coat and the cat would screech bloody murder (something Edward had quickly learned after attempting to teach the little bastard how to salute).

An empty silence resonated back- not even the standard greeting roundhouse kick that would surely have followed after his menacing comment to Al's beloved housecat. Edward's left eye twitched, and he whipped his head back looking for the familiar face that just had to be hidden around one of these damned dunes.

He groaned, running a glove-clad flesh and blood hand through his blonde bangs. The silence seemed to drag on for an eternity.

Seconds passed. Edward swallowed. Al had to be here, right? Together, the brothers had braved the most formidable of foes, and fought against creatures that any common man would've deemed impossible.

One minute. The ever so present ticking of his silver pocket watch snapped him back to attention. In the moment of his apparent anxiety, he had forgotten that he still had the insignificant trinket on him. He fished through his signature black leather pants pocket and fished out his pocket watch, snapping the cover open.

" _Don't forget. 3. Oct. 10."_ At least the tiny metal engravings winking up at him bore some small resemblance of familiarity. Still, it did nothing to quench his fears of being alone. In the desert. Without Al. Or proper resources. Worse enough, the shorter hand on the clock obnoxiously reminded him that it was already four o'clock- which meant maybe another two- three if he was lucky- hours of sun.

"Don't be stupid," he chided himself, "It's not like the first time I've gotten lost before. Hell, it's not even the first time I've crossed the desert!" Despite the conviction Edward put forth behind his bravado, the words fell flat upon his tongue. He doubted if even Major Armstrong could pull of his little declaration of survival, even if the mustachioed man bursted in to a new over-the-top speech about his quite fruitful, family lineage every five minutes.

" _But it's the first time you've been without Al,"_ his subconscious, yet again taunted. He shook his head, eager to dispel the overwhelmingly negative thoughts that clouded his conscious. For the first time in four years, the sudden absence of his formerly armored baby brother, dawned on him. No matter where he had gone or whatever crazy shenanigans he was dragged into- whether it be crazy scientists, trigger-happy criminals, or your run-of-the-mill neighborhood sociopath; Al was with him through thick and thin.

Their respective roles as the reckless younger sibling and the responsible big brother was an immense area of grey between the two of them; as more often than not, their roles were reversed. Once equipped with an impenetrable body of armor, Al stepped in to the role of Edward's protector and shielded him from the oncoming onslaught of harm. And with a pleasant, easy-to-get along-with attitude, it was no wonder that most people branded Al as _his_ elder brother or the famed Fullmetal alchemist.

It was a constant source of frustration for Edward, as it was _his_ job to take care of Al, _his_ job as an older brother to look after Al and yet… It seemed as if, Edward had failed to look after his one and only remaining family member- a topic he dwelled on too many a nights alone on an evening train (or long, uncomfortable desert strolls such as this one).

Gritting his teeth with his newfound resolve, Edward clenched his fist and forced himself to keep walking. "How the hell are you supposed to take care of Al, when you can't even look after yourself?" His golden eyes blazed anew as he reprimanded himself for being so pathetic. He didn't have a habit of moping around in a slew of self- pity and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

While his considerable sheer willpower and stamina to drag himself through the desert was quite admirable at the moment, his physical exhaustion was another matter entirely. There was a small slope in the gait of his steps as his auto mail leg felt absolutely crushing. And with the sun glaring down at him, the metal was burning to the touch and positively scorched his nerves. Interestingly enough, was the pinch in his feet from the black, shiny dress shoes he adorned. For reasons he couldn't recall, he apparently had chosen not to adorn the alarmingly red-soled elevator boots he normally wore. Even his tongue felt like a rubbery piece of sandpaper wedged uncomfortably in the confines of his bone-dry mouth. Already, he regretted his previous outburst against Mr. Snuffles in favor for a less parched throat.

He snorted. Even hundreds of miles away, the cat was a complete pain in the ass.

Dizzy and dehydrated, he placed his auto mail leg forward on the rough, sandy terrain, not particularly caring where it landed.

"Oh shit!" Edward yelped as his impossibly heavy metal appendage seemed to sink him further into the depths of golden sand. For a terrifying moment, he felt his bottom half shift deeper and deeper into the desert, as the sand seemed to swallow him whole

Panic flared in his eyes. It was as if invisible hands were dragging him, refusing to yield- he vaguely remembered the same sheer terror he only felt when he battled pride. He twisted his head, looking for anything to pull him out and propel his body up. And of course as his luck would have it, there was only sand wherever he laid his eyes upon.

The flailing of his body only served to pull him in deeper into the sand and he cursed his stupidity. If he had alchemy, he would've transmuted the sand beneath him into a glass column for him to jump out, but alas, he had paid the price in exchange for Al's body. While nothing gave him more joy than the moment he laid eyes on his teenage brother in his malnourished flesh and blood form on the promised day, he couldn't deny how the convenience of how clapping transmutations saved his ass more times than he cared to admit.

He inhaled, catching his final moments of fresh air before he sunk his self into the sand. Ed squinted, unaccustomed to the prickly sensation of having sand in his eyes. Despite the sheer hopelessness of the moment, he couldn't help but feel a smug satisfaction that even with the unbearable heat and obstruction of sand in his joints, that his leg was still fully functional. He couldn't help it- just as quickly as it had come, a surge of pride died down in him as he inspected the superior craftsmanship of his auto mail mechanic: Rockbell's the name, automail was the game.

Ed franticly banged his hands on his kneecap, hoping to dispel the apparent sand that was weighing him down. Of course, it did absolutely nothing, and the frustrated growl that inevitably followed costed him a mouthful of sand. He spat and coughed. He spat and coughed- _yuck._

" _Aw man, Winry is going to kill me for this,"_ Edward sighed, as the solution to his current predicament dawned on him. His antennae twitched at the prospect of the equally beautiful yet terrifying blond wielding a wrench, which was downright terrifying. " _Oh well, maybe I'll pick up some earrings- might just save my ass."_

His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tried to pry the metal plating of his leg. Tried, being the key word, because pulling strips of solidly attached steel seemed to be downright impossible with human hands.

" _Just come loose already!"_ Sweat beaded his creased forehead and his face slowly turned blue from the effort and lack of oxygen.

" _Come on, dammit!"_ He pulled harder, on the sheet metal, until he was positive that his fingers would fall off from the pressure.

Finally, there was a resulting "Bang!" as a carefully installed screw popped off. Ed's face contorted as he felt the scalding hot metal scorch his sensitive fingertips. Almost collectively, a slew of silver screws popped out of his leg, exposing the thin multicolored wires that lay inside. At once, he felt an impossible amount of sand drain from inside his leg. Almost at once, he felt a thousand times lighter. He crouched, getting ready to propel himself out of the sand. With a strong push of his legs, he felt himself fly several feet as he rocketed out of the sand.

"OWW," He cried as the impact of burning hot sand crashed against his tender flesh. He let out another colorful stream of curses as he lay face down in the sand. All at once, the effort to get up and move seemed impossible to him. Instead, Ed resigned to rolling himself up into a small ball.

Ed was exhausted- there was no denying the familiar ache of fatigue that creeped up on his spine. His automail joints ached, sweat and sand spotted his eyebrow as he tiredly heaved. All at once, his appendages seemed to weight ten tons. The plain effort it took to keep his golden irises open was a chore. He panted like a dog as his rubbery tongue drooped outside of his mouth.

"Gotta…keep…mo…ving" Edward mumbled against the sand. Even so, his body seemed to disregard the order as he flopped back onto the sand. He stared out into the outback. The sun was far too bright for the early evening, and all he could see was an expanse of golden sand. There was not a soul in the desert for miles, not even a single cacti dotted the increasingly bleak view.

"…What the?" Ed squinted his eyes, catching sight of a flowing brown dress coat blowing in the wind. Ed gasped- was this Al? Or just another desert mirage? He was determined to find out.

Ignoring the groan of protest from his body, Ed sprung up onto his feet. Slapping his hands against his cheek, he gaped at the familiar back that didn't disappear when he slapped himself. It had to be Al!

Ed thanked the Gate as he trudged forward, hoping to catch up with Al. Every fiber in his muscles screamed as he willed his legs to walk faster.

"AL! AL IT'S ME!" Edward screamed, piercing the sharp desert wind. He flailed his arms wildly, the rush of adrenaline pounding against his ears. "AL!" he screamed again, hoping to catch his younger brother's attention. It worked! Slowly but surely, Al was turning his head around as he caught sight of his ecstatic elder brother. Ed sprinted, not caring about the soreness that was sure to follow. At least the universe wasn't _completely_ dead set against him.

He approached Al and placed an exhausted arm on his brother's shoulder. "Oh man, Al you really saved my ass…I thought I was all alone in this barren wasteland." Ed took a deep breath, regaining his composure.

"Speaking of which, where were y…" he trailed off as a narrowed set of black eyes met his thoroughly confused golden ones. His composure slipped off his face as recognition dawned on his dazed face. A pale visage with a set of tightly pursed lips greeted him instead of his baby brother's comforting smile.

"Hello there, Fullmetal," a deep baritone voice purred. "Care to tell me what we're doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"

For the millionth time that day, Edward let a colorful stream of curses stream out from between his lips. Desert be damned- he should've just let the sand swallow him whole.


	2. B is for Bickering

B is for Bickering

A/N I don't own FMA. Also, don't expect this many updates since I will be busy for a while. Also, to any hopeful fangirls NONE OF THIS IS ROYED! Sorry, but this is a strictly parental relationship with Edward and Roy. Do **NOT** interpret this the wrong way.

You would think that after attempting human transmutation at the tender age of ten, braving off against not one- but _seven_ immortal beings (whom also just happened to be the manifestation of humanity's sins), and meeting up with the head honcho "truth" (AKA the creator of the universe), that Edward Elric would inevitably accept and resign himself to the undeniable fact- that "ordinary" simply did not- and never would belong in his vocabulary.

Apparently this didn't seem to be the case, as Roy regarded his hilariously distressed subordinate. That wasn't the only thing off about the boy. His blaringly obnoxious red coat was gone- in fact, he wasn't wearing a coat at all. Instead the boy was wearing a now crumpled fancy white dress shirt topped off with a charcoal-colored vest. Beneath the black vest was a decently knotted matching tie that complimented his dress shirt quite well. Roy's eyes trailed down, noticing that Edward had still kept the leather pants, but ultimately decided against his clunky elevator boots in favor of black dress shoes. Even his signature golden braid was gone, and pulled back into a high ponytail.

 _Clearly,_ this had to be the work of some higher being, as Edward's unusually macabre fashion sense would've involved some flashy jacket, combat boots, and some strange gothic inspired design sprawled all over his shirt. Hell, if it was up to Ed, he would've decorated the Fuhrer's mansion with grotesque stone gargoyles and would've made black chainmail military regulation, equipped with pointy spears.

Well, at least the military would look intimidating, if not terrifying to their citizens.

But even with wrinkles creasing his clothes, tiny tears dotting the seams of his pants, and sand managing to make it up to his hair, the boy looked extremely, if not, undeniably handsome. In fact, the sheer messiness of his appearance only served to exemplify his good looks what with his wild, gold eyes making him seem like the rough and rouge sort of type. It was a shame the kid wouldn't let Roy give him a few pointers on picking up women. With the exotically attractive young man at his side, Roy was sure he would easily charm women onto double dates, so long as fullmetal kept his mouth shut.

Suddenly, a new thought struck the colonel: " _Is this competition?_ _Is this fullmetal's way of trying to show me up?_ The colonel growled. _"Bring it on, short stuff. We'll see who fares better with the ladies soon enough. You couldn't even charm the devil into world domination…"_

Meanwhile, in the heat of his momentary confusion Edward gaped like a fish; one of which that had the unfortunate luck to be lured on to the line of a very not-so unfortunate fisherman. His jaw was so unhinged that it practically hit the ground. Upon laying eyes on the colonel, the boy almost immediately retracted his arm off his superior's wrinkled beige dress coat and (quite comically, if he did say so himself) leapt several feet back. The uncoordinated force of his poorly timed landing caused him to stumble a few more feet back before finally landing ever-so gracefully on his ass.

His golden irises were as nearly as wide as saucers from the initial shock- an expression Roy hadn't seen since the unfortunate shower incident that involved a sleep deprived fullmetal accidentally walking into an unlocked changing stall of the unsuspecting strong arm alchemist, Alex Louis Armstrong. (WHAT KIND OF WEIRDO GETS DRESSED SHOES FIRST?!" he had initially screamed, before proceeding to dousing his vulnerable eyes in soapy water. The resulting mental scarring had been so severe that Roy had taken pity on the poor boy and offered him a month long mission to the sweltering South; which was arguably still not enough to cleanse his mind of the disturbing mental imagery he was forced to endure. And the well-intentioned crushing hug of consolation from said muscled mustachio man that had followed only made it _so_ much worse; both for Edward's nerves as well as his spine).

Not one to take life's constant knockouts laying down, Edward hastily scrambled to his feet and brushed the sand off his dreadfully scalding black leather pants. He cursed his stupidity, allowing his momentary astonishment to let his guard down, a fact he just _knew_ his arrogant asshole of a superior would happily seek to exploit.

An accusatory pointer finger was immediately jabbed in Roy's face.

"Wha- Wha- WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL?!" Edward screeched.

Roy internally winced, and allowed his hands to twitch as he suppressed the urge to clamp them firmly onto his delicate, now-deafened ears. He had spent so many months away, eloquently planning the arrival of the promised day that he had forgotten just how vocal his youngest subordinate could be. Oddly enough, during those busy months Roy had caught himself actually missing the screaming matches that transpired between the calm and ( _cool_ , as the countless ladies of central liked to put it) colonel and his boisterous yet brilliant lackey. True, the utter commotion of their childish quarrels would annoy anyone in a five mile radius, and admittedly more than once a displeased Hawkeye had to butt in with a soft but nonetheless intimidating switch of her revolver- but they also provided a nice, if temporary, distraction from his demanding schedule. Besides, if the boy was well enough to berate him, than it meant that the harsh reality of being a loathed dog of the military hadn't broken his spirit.

But _man,_ the kid had one hell of a pair of lungs.

"Wh- WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

Edward was seething with fury; no doubt about the little mishap he had with a serious case of mistaken identity. The colonel smirked as he watched the apples of his subordinate's cheek ripen to a deep scarlet. Just from watching the tell-tale signs of fullmetal's body language, he could tell the boy was at a conflict: whether or not to be irrationally pissed off at the colonel for unintentionally duping him or extremely embarrassed for being caught during his rare moments of weakness.

Roy sighed. Really, that boy was like an open book. A very, very, threatening-looking open book filled with sharp edges and too many questions that needed to be answered.

"Well, if I actually knew why I was stranded in the middle of a godforsaken desert, why do you think I would ask you?" Roy replied. He grimaced. He was taken aback by the bitter tone that seeped into his voice. He honestly hadn't expected his response to be so sharp towards the boy, he usually had such a firm grip over his calm disposition. _It must be the goddamn heat,"_ he mused, " _damn desert is baking like the inside of an oven,"_

Nevertheless his gruff response shocked Edward. It was pretty run-of-the mill for the red coat clad boy to dish out his standard stormy back talk (mixed in with the occasional short rant, of course), but Roy? No matter how hopeless things got, how shitty the situation was, Roy always had his signature smirk plastered on his face- it was his way of taunting life, as if to say "save yourself the trouble, and surrender before you make a bigger fool out of yourself." Roy was a man of many faces, but short-tempered and snappy was never one of them.

Covering up his shock with a false expression of resentment, Edward snarled. "I can never get a straight answer out of you, can I colonel bastard? Tch, figures out of all the annoying assholes in good old Amestris, I had to get stuck with _you_ of all people."

"I wouldn't point fingers if I were you fullmetal. It's not like I asked to be stuck with the world's most volatile human firecracker," Roy coolly responded. He watched the younger boy's face contort into demon-like fury.

"Firecracker? Don't talk about flames, bastard, when it's you who's constantly spittin' them! Why don't you practice what you preach, dragon breath!"

"Dragon breath? How immature, fullmetal. But after all, what can you expect from a disobedient child whose only real talent is mocking his superiors?"

"Don't call me a child! At least I'm not some dusty old fart like you!"

Old fart?! Why that little- Roy's eye twitched. Dragon breath he could handle, but old? He didn't care if that kid happened to be the famed "hero of the people," that obnoxious midget was going to pay!

"Why don't you just run on home and tuck yourself into bed? Quick now, fullmetal, you wouldn't want to miss bedtime!" It was a new degree of childish for Roy, but for what it was worth, Roy couldn't bring himself to care. He relished the few seconds of silence and allowed himself a small, smug smile of victory before it slipped off his face. Instead of the expected sarcastic retort that was sure to follow, he was only met with silence. Edward's eyes were glazed, a sure sign that he was lost in thought.

 _"Bedtime…"_ Edward mused as his mind flashed back to memories of the past. He and Al hadn't had a proper bedtime ever since his beloved mother passed away. Visions of a four year old Edward and his giggling baby brother filled his head.

 _"After supper, Al and I would always help mom clear the table…"_ The two brothers would climb on the wooden chairs, since they were too small to reach the table. Since, Edward had developed a bit of a competitive streak from early on, he would make a competition out of everything. He constantly fought with his brother over who could run the fastest, who could sing the loudest- the two had even fought over who would marry their best friend/neighbor Winry someday. Ed's chubby hands enclosed a dirty soup spoon and his plump fingers clutched onto a matching fork. Meanwhile, Al was having decidedly less success trying to push his lower body onto a wooden stool. With a small laugh, his mother would scoop Al up and patiently sit him down on the table so he could help his brother scavenge for dirty silverware.

"That's cheating!" Ed would angrily exclaim, shaking his little hand at Al. His mother would laugh and patiently reassure him that Al just needed a push because he wasn't as strong or old enough as Edward to do it himself. With that, the three-year old would grin, satisfied with his mother's reminder that Ed was the older brother, and that he was superior to his toddler sibling. After the brothers had collected all the utensils they could get their chubby hands on, their mother would pat their heads and thank her "little men for all their hard work."

 _"...and after dinner, mom would tuck us into bed. And sometimes, she used to sing and tell stories…"_ As a child, bedtime had always been Edward's favorite time of day. His mother would lure them off into their beds but not without the promise of a bedtime story. Cuddled up with warmly-knitted blankets, Trisha would envelop her sons into a hug and begin her enchanting tales. There were stories about kings and queens, dragons that would terrorize entire villages, and most often, stories about a knight in shining armor, since Al had an affinity for everything shiny. His favorite one by far however wasn't about mystical creatures or love struck princesses, it was a rather simple story:

 _"One day a Prince fell in love with a beautiful Princess."_ "Mom!" Edward whined. He hated mushy stories and couldn't understand his brother's fascination with them. "I don't wanna listen to another mushy story! They're all yucky!" he complained. His mother just laughed. Over years of perfecting the best bedtime story, she learned that for children, who had such especially curious minds as her own boys; interruptions would be constant, along with twinkling laughter and the occasional potty break.

"This isn't a yucky story, I promise," his mother replied as she entwined her pinky finger with Edward's tiny one.

 _"He proposed marriage…"_ "Mommy, what's purr-pose?" Al asked. Trisha giggled into her hand before tapping her littlest one on the nose. "Not purr-pose; propose: it's when you ask someone to marry you, sweetie."

"Anybody?" Al asked as his golden eyes shimmered with wonder.

"No Al, not anybody. You can only marry someone who you love, and loves you back,"

"So I can marry mommy?" Al asked.

"Not quite little one, I already have daddy- but I'm sure you'll find someone who loves you too, Al." Trisha smiled gently at her two sons. Yes indeed, she knew her precious little ones would most definitely find someone special. After all, her boys had favored their father's exotic looks.

"What about Ed?" Al asked. Her eldest one was sulking on his corner of the bed, jealous of the attention their mother was giving Al.

"Even Ed," she warmly replied. Call it mother's intuition, or maybe wishful thinking, but Trisha Elric had a sneaking suspicion that the little Rockbell girl next door was destined for Edward. The two fought like an old married couple, even at playtime; and even though she was a girl, that never stopped Ed from playing with her- even if the other neighborhood boys would make faces and insist he would catch "cooties."

 _"...as soon as he saw her and knew that she was his true love. However, the Princess rejected his hand in marriage. The Prince was very angry. When he demanded why, the princess revealed that she was already in love with another. Worse, she was in love with a poor peasant."_

"That prince is a huge phony!" Edward grumbled. "What's wrong with being poor?"

"Things were different back then, Edward," Trisha gently explained.

"Hmph!" Edward pouted. Sighing, Trisha gently ruffled her eldest son's golden hair. Even at his young age, Edward was highly opinionated.

 _When the prince found out, he ordered his most trusted guards to kill off the peasant._

"K-kill?" Alphonse squeaked before hiding his trembling face beneath a layer of blanket. A tiny pouf of yellow hair peeked out from his comforter.

"Don't worry, dear. It'll be alright." Trisha soothed. Slightly reassured, Alphonse nodded but still shook like a leaf.

 _"Worried for her love, the princess escaped with the peasant in the middle of the night. And for years, the angry prince never saw his beloved princess again._

 _Many years later, the prince was strolling the woods when he stumbled onto a little house in the middle of the woods. Thirsty and hungry, the prince knocked on the door and asked for some food. When the door opened, he was greeted by a young boy who allowed him in. They boy was kind and gave him tea. Then, they boy's father came in. and greeted the prince. Upon seeing the father's face the prince gasped."_

The brothers stuck their chubby hands up to their faces and deeply inhaled, making mock-gasp faces.

"Like this, mommy?" Al asked.

Trisha laughed at her children's antics. They were quite the little actors.

"Exactly like that," Trisha giggled and clapped her hands together

 _"It was the same face of the peasant who had stolen his love a long time ago."_

This time, the brothers had genuine matching expressions of shock etched onto their chubby faces.

 _"The prince became angry again and stormed the father's house looking for where the boy's mother was. The peasant finally cried and told him that she had died a couple years earlier in an accident."_

At this, tiny tears cascaded down Al's chubby cheeks. His bottom lip began to quiver before he inevitably let out a single sob.

"Mama, the princess died?" Al sniffled. "But…why?" Al uttered before bawling overtook his tiny form. Trisha gently scooped up her littlest one into her arms before gently placing him down onto her lap.

"Yes, Alphonse the princess passed away," Trisha gently said before softly rubbing his back in circles. "But it's ok, because it's make-believe," Trisha cooed. "You, Edward, and Mommy are just fine."

"Really, mommy?" Al peered up from his mother's lavender house dress. With tearful golden eyes, Al searched her face for any uncertainty or doubt.

"Yes, Al. It's just make believe," Trisha replied. This appeared to have satisfied Al, as he was rubbing his eyes dry.

Trisha looked over at her older son, who was frowning with his arms crossed. He glared at his little brother accusingly, before scowling and looking away. Oh dear, it seemed as if her eldest boy, Edward was jealous from the maternal attention Al was receiving. Making sure her other son didn't feel left out, Trisha gently patted Edward's knee. The small comforting gesture from his mother seemed to work as Edward brightened up immediately.

 _"The prince grew even blinder from his hatred. He left the cottage, and the he swore to get revenge on the father._

 _The next day, the prince ordered his soldiers to steal the peasant's prized horse. So, the prince's soldiers set out and came back with the peasant's stolen horse."_

"The prince is a bad man! He should go to jail!" Edward piped up.

 _Later, the prince went back to the peasant's cottage and asked him how he felt. The peasant simply smiled, and cheerfully replied that all was well and invited him in for tea._

"Haha!" Edward cackled. "Serves that dumb Prince right!"

"Mind your language, Edward," Trisha reprimanded. Where was he picking up this language? She had no idea where Edward's apparent bad boy streak stemmed from. She only hoped it would die off before he grew into a teenager.

"Sorry, mom," Edward sincerely apologized. He hung his head in shame- he hated it when he made mommy angry.

"Just don't do it again," his mother whispered. She comfortingly patted Edward's head, pressing down his little antennae.

 _"This made the prince even angrier. He decided to punish the father even more. The next day the prince ordered his soldiers to harvest the peasant's crops. So, the prince's soldiers set off and came back with the peasant's crops."_

"He wasted all that food!" both brothers cried out at the same time. Trisha chuckled at her sons' sudden outburst. After all the two could work up quite an appetite.

"What will he eat mommy?" Al worriedly asked.

"Why, he's saved up stew, Al. Enough for him and his son," Trisha responded.

Edward's golden eyes were wide open and licked his lips. Trisha knew from that astounded expression, Edward was thinking about all the food that could've been made.

"Sugar cookies," Edward whispered, as if in a trance. "Pound cake and blue berry muffins…" he trailed off.

 _Later, the prince went back to the peasant's cottage and asked him how he felt. The peasant simply smiled once again, and cheerfully replied that all was well and invited him in for tea._

 _Finally the prince became so angry that the next day, the prince ordered his soldiers to destroy the peasant's little cottage. So, the prince's soldiers set out and came back with the rubble from the peasant's cottage._

Edward fumed with anger, while Al whimpered.

"I don't like the phony Prince!" Edward declared before crossing his arms. "He stole the horsey and he ruined all that food! How come the Prince doesn't get a time out?" Edward pouted.

Trisha laughed. "He does deserve a huge time out, doesn't he little man?"

"Yeah!" both brothers agreed.

 _Later, the prince went back to the peasant and his ruined cottage and asked him how he felt. The peasant simply smiled, and cheerfully replied that all was well, but he couldn't invite him in for tea._

"Why isn't the poor guy angry?" Edward cried out. Clearly exasperated, he settled for throwing his hands up in the air.

 _"When he heard this the prince finally lost his temper. "I've stolen your prized horse. Harvested your crops. I have even destroyed your house! How can you still be so happy? The peasant simply smiled and replied, 'You may have taken my horse, my food, and my home; but you haven't taken away my son. And as long as I have my son, I have my family; and family is the most precious treasure of them all.'"_

"What's that mean mommy?" Al asked for the umpteenth time that night.

"It means that, family is the most important thing in the world. And because the peasant has his son, he still has his most important thing," Trisha explained.

"So does this mean that me and Al are mommy's most important thing in the world?" Edward hopefully inquired.

"You and your little brother Al will _always_ be my most important thing in the world," Trisha affirmed. Identical grins broke out on the brothers faces. They beamed back at each other before reaching over to hug their mother.

"Even for daddy?" Al softly questioned as he put his arms around his mother's midsection.

"Even for daddy," Trisha firmly answered back. Even though she was smiling down at her two little angels, her most prized possessions, she internally frowned. Her husband was still so scared of harming their two little boys, that he barely touched them.

Noticing his mother's slightly forced smile, he nuzzled his face into her arm. Trisha subconsciously wrapped her arms around Edward pulling him tighter into her embrace.

 _"At once, the prince realized his foolishness. He had been so lonely that he turned his sadness to anger and took it out on the peasant. He begged the peasant for his forgiveness, and the peasant warmly smiled and told him that they were the prince's new family. And so, the peasant and his son lived with the happy prince in the castle and lived for many happy days to come…"_ his mother's comforting voice faded from Edward's head as the distant memory faded to a close.

Edward blankly stared off into space, unaware that he had been daydreaming for quite some time.

"…ullmetal, hey!" a voice snapped him out of his stupor.

"Welcome to Earth fullmetal," Roy chided, snapping his fingers in front of his dazed subordinate.

Edward shook his head and stared back up at his superior. What the…? Hadn't they just been fighting two seconds ago?

"Wakey-wakey," Roy teased, as he snapped his fingers in Edward's face. Growling, Edward shoved his superior's stupid arm out of the way.

"What happened…" Edward asked before snapping his mouth shut. Shit! Had he really spaced out, again?

He looked up at his superior's face and was graced with a mocking smirk- confirming the worst. Edward groaned as an uncomfortable heat flushed his cheeks.

"Leave me alone, you stupid jackass," Edward muttered. Stupid Mustang! Always catching him at his most embarrassing moments!

"What's wrong fullmetal? Day dreaming again?" Mustang taunted. His smirk extended to a full on shit-eating grin as he watched fullmetal's face deepen to a shade that reminded him of the boy's gaudy cloak.

"Yeah! About how to kick your stupid ass into next week!" Edward snapped. Roy was amazed that fullmetal hadn't passed out from blood loss yet. His face was positively crimson, all the way from his chin to the tips of his ears. Edward snarled, and proceeded to stare at anything but Roy.

"What's with the guilty face, fullmetal? You weren't thinking about anything… _inappropriate_ , were you?" Roy taunted. Edward's whole body immediately twitched, as if a thousand tiny bolts of lightning had electrocuted his body. His shoulders became stiff, his throat instantly went dryer than the dusty desert sand, and his hands remained into some sort of clawed position.

"Argh…you…stupid…womanizing!" Edward choked out.

 _"Looks like I hit a nerve,"_ Roy thought as he watched his youngest subordinate struggle to form a coherent sentence.

Apparently, ladies weren't fullmetal's forte

"I guess you've finally climbed another rung on the ladder to adulthood? Finally noticing the female figure, huh?" Roy mocked. " _Oh yes,"_ Roy regarded evilly as he watched steam come out of the younger boy's ears.

"Well, it's about time, fullmetal," Roy continued, ignoring the Ed's feeble protests. "Speaking of women, how's your little automail mechanic doing back in Risembool? Or was it Rush Valley, if I heard correctly?" As soon as the words flew out of Roy's mouth, Edward practically convulsed in a fit of rage. His whole body shook in silent anger and Edward's expression was unreadable, since his head was hung so low.

Edward clenched his flesh hands and whipped his head up to glare at Roy. His golden eyes were practically burning with wrath as they burned into Roy's forehead.

"Don't talk about Winry like that." Roy internally shivered as he vaguely recognized Edward's steely voice. He couldn't recall fullmetal lowering his voice to such a dangerous level except for when he confronted Scar, the alleged murderer of his best friend's parents.

Roy knew that pressing the boy would be complete suicide, knowing that an angry Edward was more intimidating than the devil himself. But Roy also knew, that if anyone could press the boy's buttons and escape unscathed it was him. Him, and the now deceased Maes Hughes, but somewhere along his devastating loss of losing his best friend and blinding hatred towards Envy Roy had unanimously decided that it would be best if he didn't talk about Maes. Ever.

Now who was getting tongue tied?

Roy shook off his momentary distraction.

Catching Edward off guard was one thing; throughout Edward's military career Mustang had always watched over the two boy, making sure that they hadn't wandered off into trouble. And while he and Edward had their fair share of childish spats, Mustang knew that he would always have the upper hand, because he was the adult. It wasn't always that Edward let him in during his moments of weakness, but Mustang didn't care. He would take it upon himself to break down the walls fullmetal so carefully crafted, if it meant that Edward didn't go back to his brother a broken man.

Mustang was a natural leader, he knew that if it was anyone destined to be the future Fuhrer of his country, it was him; whether or not he deserved it was another question. But just because he was born with the potential to be a good commander, didn't mean that he automatically was one. Over the years he had spent with his loyal team by his side, he had learned that in order to lead a commendable team, he had to prove that was an equally worthy commandant, worthy of their trust. And a good leader was always stoic. Especially, in times of distress. He wouldn't allow Edward to see him like this. He was Roy Mustang, dammit! He was the "hero of Ishval," not some sad old sack. Roy shook off his sorrow for his fallen comrade and beloved friend.

He refocused himself, thinking back to their current quarrel. Oh right, the lovely Miss Rockbell. Roy swallowed, getting a grip on his emotions. " _You fool,"_ he chided himself. What was wrong with him? He never allowed himself to get distracted by the enemy. _"The object is victory,"_ he recited, _"obtain it."_

"Wouldn't she be sixteen by now? At this age, she must have filled out quite well. Tell, me fullmetal how does she look in a miniskirt?"

Edward was on fire. He was past making words, much less sentences- past all reasoning. Too many times today, he had been caught off guard. He sputtered and jerked his head up sloppily.

In all honesty, Roy Mustang's intuition had been right on the money. Ed couldn't help it- he couldn't fight his instincts off, especially teenage hormones. Human weapon he may be, but at the end of the day, he was still just a hot-blooded teenage boy, and which teenage boy's mind didn't wander once, if not several times a day? And wander, it did.

Maybe on a different day or a different playing field Edward would have snapped his mind back into alert and followed through with a witty retort. And it wasn't as if the boy didn't have any will power to concentrate- his brother's new body was a sign of his unbreakable resolve that never faltered through the years. But circumstances were circumstances, and circumstances currently dictated that Edward's mind was only capable of occupying a very different type of thought process.

As much as he hated to admit it Edward was by no means, a stranger to unsavory thoughts. Ever since his grease monkey of a mechanic started prancing around in that tight little blue skirt, Edward found himself unable to concentrate on anything but her slender figure. And as for now, Edward could only think of a very specific memory that involved hiding out in the gearhead's room with a sandwich (what flavor Edward couldn't remember for the life of him, being too _preoccupied_ at the moment).

Filled out, she most definitely had. Quite well, if Edward could say so himself. As short as the sleeting moment of half-nudity had been, Edward had managed to get the picture of an extremely underdressed Winry Rockbell permanently engraved into his skull. And how much it had _definitely_ been worth it because even after being tinkered with by her tools, taunted by greed (and Ling later, much to his dismay), and being violently assaulted over the head with a wrench; Edward couldn't remember those heavenly ten seconds of momentary disrobing even if he tried.

Much like a broken recorder, the memory replayed over and over and _over_ , again. Fullmetal's flustered reaction did not go unnoticed by his cocky superior.

"Or judging from your excessive reaction, perhaps you've been graced with a little more than just a miniskirt?" Roy said, stretching the word "more" ever so slightly past its allotted syllables. Roy had suspected as much, when he saw Edward blush tomato red and became oblivious to his taunts. Ahhh, youth. _"That sly dog wasn't contemplating, he was remembering!"_ Roy smirked as he gauged fullmetal's reaction.

And for Edward, that was that. Resembling a kettle that was about to overflow, Edward exploded. THAT WAS IT! He had had it with Colonel Asshole! It was one thing to mock his childhood but to drag Winry into this?! Time to bring up the heavy ammunition.

"SHUT UP, YOU USELESS IN THE RAIN COLONEL! AT LEAST I'M NOT THE ONE WHO CAN'T HANDLE A LITTLE SPRING SHOWER WITHOUT LT. HAWKEYE AS MY GLORIFIED BABYSITTER!"

A deadly silence filled the air. The only sounds that could have been heard were Edward's heavy breathing as his lungs seemed to collapse from the overuse.

" _Useless,"_ rung in Roy's head like a dysfunctional doorbell. That word, pared along with words such as "rain" and "Hawkeye," proved to be a lethal combination for Roy, when pushed too far. Screw being an adult- Roy couldn't give a rat's ass about dignity. " _Do unto your enemies as they would do to you,"_ the clipped voice of a drill sergeant repeated. If it was anything Roy had remembered from his dreaded days at the military academy, it was to keep a cool head. And all at once, four grueling years of ingrained military expertise seemed to flush down the toilet as Roy let his hot-headed temper finally take control.

"USELESS? AT LEAST I'M NOT THE TINY LITTLE PRESCHOOLER WHO NEEDS A HIGHCHAIR TO SEE PAST MY PAPERWORK!" There. " _That was satisfying_ ," Roy reasoned as he let himself take five deep breaths.

Edward was breathing deeply too- but for an entirely different reason. He took a large swallow of oxygen, mentally preparing himself for one of his wittiest comebacks in the history of verbal sparring.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO A MIDGET SO SHORT THAT YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE THEM WITH A TEN THOUSAND TIMES MAGNIFIED MICROSCOPE?!"

"…That would be you, fullmetal."

"YOU EMPEROR OF THE INEPT, YOU!"

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY SHORT STUFF?!"

Up above two hungry vultures gazed down upon their supposed prey. _So noisy_. _And way too much effort_. Cutting their losses, the vultures simply moved on, on the hunt for a stray snake or scorpion. They'd come back later for the corpses though. After all, if the heat hadn't killed them, the freezing night to come would surely do them in…


	3. C is for Cold

C is for Cold

A/N I don't own FMA. And I am so, so sorry for not updating sooner. I forgot to explain that Roy used the philosopher stone so he could see, I'll include something about that later~ Also please review. These comments are my life. OH AND IMPORTANT! CHAPTER 2 WAS EDITED! BECAUSE WHY NOT? Mmmkay, that's it.

Hot. Sandy and hot. When it came down to it, that's all the desert was. Nothing but miles upon miles of barren, sandy wasteland. There were no plants– just cacti with spikes sharper than a steel sword. There were no buildings- just an expanse of sand stretching farther than the railway tracks that zigzagged right into central station. There were no people- just an empty, unpopulated plain that was quitter than- oh wait; there _were_ people. And not just one ambling idiot that had managed to land their dimwitted self, astray in an unforgiving desert. Oh no, not at all. In fact, there seemed to be _two_ numbskulls who brilliantly ended up marooned in the middle of the nowhere. " _Oh well,"_ a ravenous vulture swooped up from the sky. " _More for me!"_

The heat was downright unbearable. It had scorched the tender flesh of Roy's pale skin (which was now an inflamed shade of red), slathered him with sweat, and even had the audacity to make _his hands_ \- the very same hands which had faced flame after flame, snap after snap- to curl up in his palms out of pure discomfort. A sheen of sweat had drenched his five foot ten body and he was shrouded in moisture.

And yet, no matter how heated Roy felt, and how suffocating and sticky his dress shirt was, he couldn't even begin to sympathize with the stubborn teen who tiredly trotted several meters ahead. Fullmetal had initially put up a good face. He masked his exhaustion with exasperation, his soreness with snide remarks- but now? Roy carefully watched the muscles of Ed's back contort as he took each shaky step. Roy dug his trembling hands in to his stitched pockets and was greeted by the familiar rough cloth of his ignition gloves. Though the gloves were a welcome reminder, Roy shuddered at the thought of using it

" _We haven't encountered any hostile enemies yet…but"_ Roy, hesitantly trailed off. He'd worry about enemies later, at the moment, the only opposition they faced was the sun. Roy gazed upon Edward's coatless back. While Roy had chosen (more or less) to keep his fancy sweltering coat on in fear of sunburn, Edward had opted for tying the "elongated housedress," as Edward so eloquently put it, around his around his waist. Immediately after he square knotted his jacket through the loops of his leather pants, Roy had immediately scolded him for his ignorance.

"What would have happened if you burned your back to a crisp?" Roy had initially threatened. "Do you honestly think that I'm going to drag your charred ass back home?"

For once in his life, Edward had simply glared back and snarled, not particularly caring for a comeback. As soon as Roy was about to curse the boy for being so thick-headed, the words on his tongue died as fast they appeared. Edward's eyebrows were creased in the concentration, and sweat beaded down his tanned face. No doubt, that fullmetal was in pure agony from having to trudge his metal leg across the desert for ten miles? Fifteen? Roy had lost count. Ed's fancy white dress shirt looked worse for wear: there were rips where the cotton had been torn from the seams and clung to Edward's skin.

" _Godamnit! We haven't seen a single person for miles!"_ Whether or not the fact that the two had yet to stumble upon any form of civilization was of concern, was unknown to the less-than friendly duo. In fact, ever since their last heated argument (the puns are strong with this one), the two had yet to utter a peep to each other. It was childish, and would probably be considered downright pathetic in Lt. Hawkeye's book but Roy didn't have the patience in him to care.

" _Imagine,"_ soldiers would say after they dug up their bodies from the barren desert, " _two of Amestris's most powerful state alchemists in history…"_ Roy could just picture his higher-ups smug faces, all of them more than pleased at Roy's untimely demise. "… _deader than a doornail, because they couldn't transmute a measly drop of water."_ Roy's left eye twitched.

And the Lt.? How would she fare after she learned that her beloved boss had shriveled up in a backwater desert in the middle of nowhere? Would she shake her head in dismay and sigh over his stupidity? Or would she break down in a fit of tears and hysterics? " _Probably the former…"_ Roy mused. " _Doesn't matter, I won't give her the opportunity for either,"_ he concluded, wiping some stray sand off his brow.

" _We have two options laid out before us,"_ Roy formulated. " _We either keep moving in search of shelter. Or we make our own, somehow_." Roy panted like a dog, his hands clenching the knees of his dress pants in a death grip. Several spots in the sand had turned a shade darker where droplets of sweat had landed. He inhaled slowly, scrambling to catch his breath, but in the end he only ended up panting even harder. Roy smirked, " _panting like a dog, how fitting,"_ he grimly smiled.

" _When did it get so quiet?"_ Edward wore a puzzled expression as he noted the absence of Roy's heavy footsteps crunching in to the sand. With the effort of lifting an Armstrong, Edward craned his neck forty-five degrees past his slouched shoulders only to see the colonel practically sprawled out on the sand. He sighed, letting the air rack through his weary frame.

Edward pivoted his heels to a one-eighty and shakily sauntered over to his tire-stricken superior. His flesh leg shook with every step, and after a mere three feet, he was practically dragging his automail leg through the sand. After what seemed like a small eternity, he finally managed to slog himself right in front of Roy's slumped figure.

"Hey bastard, get up," Ed sternly commanded as he half-heartedly glared down at Roy. The corner of Ed's mouth twitched. He envied Roy equally as much as he aggravated the older alchemist at the moment. How nice it must be, to allow yourself to simply sprawl out among the desert dunes and drift to dreamland. Unyielding resolve, Ed currently decided, was both a gift and a curse.

"Hey colonel dainty-face, get your ass up and moving." No response. Not even "dainty-face" so much as stirred the colonel from his slumber. " _Huh,"_ Edward shrugged as he carelessly flicked Roy's forehead. " _There's a first time for everything."_

Edward hovered his face a mere three inches away from Roy's sensitive ear. "Come on, colonel wet-match, we don't have all goddam day here," he mocked.

His pink tongue (which now felt more like an antique leather hand bag) came out to lick his chapped lips- a sure sign that he was satisfied with his most recent insult. After all, if it was anything Edward picked up from his frequent screaming matches with his egotistical jerk-face superior, it was that any insult that remotely had anything to do with water, would immediately grab his attention.

So then why was it that Roy didn't even make the slightest peep at the comparison of a damp (and not to mention useless) set of matches?

A rare glimmer of worry shone in Edward's golden eyes. The thought of carrying the colonel as well as his scorching steel appendage across the desert made itself visible on his pale-stricken face. He wasn't even sure he could shoulder Mei's tiny (yet aggressive) panda right now, much less a fully grown man. He gulped, and leaned his lips so close to Roy's ear that he could have spit right into the older man's ear canal. He gently nudged Roy (well, what was considered gentle to Edward, anyway) on the shoulder once; and then twice, knocking Roy's hand into the sand.

"In case you haven't noticed we're in the middle of a godforsaken desert and- ACK!" Edward's rant was suddenly cut short when a pale hand shot out and swatted his automail leg away. An assorted variety of curses left Roy's lips as his tender fingers clanged against hot steel.

"Have a nice nap, colonel faint-face?" Edward devilishly grinned as Roy furiously shook his poor, aching fingers. Honestly, what was the man expecting knocking his digits against a solid coating of scorching steel? That he would hit a helium balloon? The tiniest trail of drool (or was it sweat?) plastered the colonel's pointy chin, as he dazedly blinked and narrowed his eyes from the blaring sun. Edward extended his grin as he caught a rare moment of the almighty Roy Mustang rubbing the tiredness from his eyes- the additional swearing and shaking of his swollen fingers (which now resembled a close shade to the inside of a ripe cantaloupe) was a nice bonus, too.

It was nice to have the upper hand, no matter how short-lived it may be.

Roy's eyes narrowed as they came into focus of a highly-amused fullmetal.

"Ah, fullmetal. Nice to see you acting as a highly mature adult. Tell me, have you found any solutions out of this predicament?" Roy calmly responded.

The mile wide grin on the teenager's face promptly slipped off and shattered to a million pieces. Damn Roy- couldn't he give him a five minutes before reminding him that they were stuck together in the middle of this hellhole?

"Tch," Edward snarled. "Nice to see _you_ back to your asshole self." Edward ducked Roy's gaze and abruptly turned around. To think that he was actually _worried_ about that asshole for a minute. He clenched his fists- why did he even bother in the first place?

"And what about you?" Edward sharply retorted. "I haven't seen you propose some genius solution to get us the hell out of…here." The last word's Ed had uttered caused a brief moment of uncomfortable silence to fill between the two of them. Roy visibly tensed, his sharp intake of breath piercing the five seconds of silence.

" _Hate to say it, but fullmetal's right,"_ Roy internally contemplated. " _Neither of us know where the hell we are, and how in the world we got here."_ Just great. Roy internally groaned. Reason number two hundred twenty-seven to add under the "Reasons why Roy Mustang will die before thirty" list.

"Well?" Edward harshly responded.

"Glad you inquired, fullmetal," Roy replied, gradually regaining his calm disposition. "As much as I would just love to keep our midday trek through a million miles of sand, stone and god-knows-what, I think it's time we stop and build shelter."

"You want us to build shelter, _here?!"_ Edward cried out in disbelief. "Whaddya crazy? Did the all that desert sand finally get to your brain?"

Roy narrowed his dark eyes and with a brief clench of his teeth, he wisely decided it was best to brush off fullmetal's snide comments.

"As a matter of fact, I do think we should stop for the night. In case you haven't noticed the sun has started to set and it won't be much longer until nightfa-"

"So you want us to stop here?" Edward violently interrupted. "And how do you think we're going to make shelter in the first place?! In case you haven't noticed, I can't transmute anymore!"

The familiar lingers of annoyance swam through the muddy waters of Roy's consciousness as he struggled to suppress shoving one of his gloves down Edward's black hole of a mouth. How was it again, that the boy had this much energy to argue? Inhale. Exhale. Deep, deep, breaths.

"We don't need to transmute anything," Roy snapped (Again, with the puns). "Unless, of course, the unlikely chance that the universe is feeling especially callous today and it starts raining; I'd say we're good."

A small feeling of content rose in Roy's chest as he reveled in the dry, sandy climate. Even though he was a powerful man, an ambitious man- and even a famed hero in the eyes of his platoon, without his flames he was just that; nothing more and nothing less than a man. He was mighty and determined; naïve and hopeful; a man dedicated to reconstructing Amestris for the people, for the future.

In the menacing looks of his superiors, he was arrogance; sheer pride in its most unadulterated form.

In the respected gazes of his team, he was a force unswerving and imposing; he had earned their confidence and promised to uphold it through peril and catastrophe.

In the eyes of _his_ loyal lieutenant, _his_ most trusted ally, he was equally foolish and brave; and though she was not blind to his faults, she was devoted to fulfilling his dream- she would follow him down to the depths of hell, itself.

But in his own critical gaze; sometimes horrified and sometimes smug, he was just… useless. Useless enough to be a pretty pawn for the military and watch helplessly as his loved ones brutally snatched out of his hand like candy from an infant.

And in the eyes of his youngest, most endowed subordinate? He, no, _they_ were completely screwed. Goners. Food for the pigeons (or vultures in this case).

And yet, Roy couldn't help the twinge of pride that stirred in his chest. Even though the two were sleep-deprived, even though they felt as if a thousand cinderblocks were pressed against their trembling backs, even though they were well aware that they could be walking out of the desert as dead men, Roy was proud. Because while the sooty air of central city was a stinging slap of reality, here, in the desert, he wasn't bound to the shackles of hierarchy. Here, he was Roy Mustang, a king amongst pillars of sand: unyielding, unstoppable, and fierce as the flames he conjured himself. And it was the ugly truth.

His voice was quiet this time, yet still carrying a harsh, reprimanding tone. "Look around you fullmetal. What do you see?" he asked.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ed's voice was demanding and impatient, a pure contrast to Roy's composed, authoritative baritone.

" _What do you see_?" Roy commanded, his voice all steel and gravel.

They boy went quiet for a moment. They might've not been subordinate and superior anymore, but the effect was all the same.

"…Sand. And not a damn soul in sight," Edward finally replied.

"Exactly. There are no villages and there are no people. There is no oasis or even a damn cave to rest. We have no materials to transmute, no water to drink, and no saviors to come rescue us."

From the very start he was stranded in the hellhole, alone and without Al, the thought of certain death lingered in the back of his mind. After all, he was a scientist by nature- he based his principles off logic and rationale. " _Dehydration_ " he had reasoned when he thought about what factors would inevitably do him in. _"Heat sickness and starvation, too."_

He knew dammit! He was fully aware that even together, the two were still just as ill-fated for their untimely demise. So why was it that he was able to forego his worries so easily around the colonel? How could he let himself lose face around the colonel in a heartbeat? Did that bastard almost make him feel…safe?

And now, the severity of Roy's words hit him like a tank. In all the years Ed had seen Roy, he never could fathom that such a proud and powerful man could be so weary. The effect it had on Edward was chilling. If Roy Mustang was expecting the worse then they would be in for the worst.

He let out a shaky breath. "So what do you suggest?

" _Hot,"_ the colonel had hastily decided after he had woken up to a mouthful of sand and pebbles. " _Hot and dry,"_ he added after taking note of the arid, coarse air that filled his lungs after he charmingly spat out gravel onto the ground. And after dragging himself past miles upon miles with nothing but sand and surprise! More sand; he couldn't help but echo that thought throughout the entirety of the afternoon.

But, perhaps the Colonel had been too hasty to have assumed such a sentiment. Suddenly the colonel was lamenting his old words as he shivered and pulled his coat closer around his huddled form. Because while being hotter than his gloves after a quick, permission warmup was absolutely agony, being freezing in the middle of the desert was so much worse.

He had attempted to cocoon himself in his chocolate-colored trench coat but it had the same effect as sticking a Band-Aid on a bullet hole. The moon shone beautifully amongst the dark expanse of the starless sky, but at the moment neither Roy nor Edward couldn't care less if the sky was a giant blowup of Elicia in a rosy pink tutu. Roy pulled his knees up to his chest and lay his head on his kneecaps. Across him, Edward sat cross-legged and gingerly rubbed his arms for a bit of friction.

"…F-Find you st-stupid gloves yet?" Edward stammered as he shook like a leaf. He rubbed his arms up and down, before sticking his hands in his armpits. He let out a sigh of relief as he felt his icy fingers slowly come back to life as they twitched under the warm, dank crevice of heat.

"Be p-patient fullmetal," Roy shakily glared back as he buried his hands into his coat pockets.

" _SHIT!"_ Alarm flooded every inch of Roy's body as he felt nothing but cotton stitching rubbing against his fingertips. " _SHIT!"_ Desperation flooded his eyes as he dug his fingers into the soft, satiny pockets, only to retrieve a fistful of air. He yanked his hands out and patted down his pockets. There was nothing, not even the slightest bulge of cloth when he pressed down onto his coat. There was nothing in his pockets at all- save for a few scraps of lint that was burrowed in between his fingernails.

Fullmetal, who intently watched a few feet away, was clenching his fingers in pure panic. He swallowed, barely able to dredge the meager teaspoon of saliva past his parched throat. " _What if he isn't able to find the gloves? We'll freeze!"_ Edward allowed his nails to dig into his biceps, leaving tiny half-moon marks behind. _"If Roy doesn't find those gloves…"_ Edward's head swam with countless of possible outcomes that were sure to occur if Roy couldn't make a fire. All of them were gruesome. None of them involved the two coming out unscathed.

Meanwhile, Roy calmly kept his hands in his pockets as if he was casually enjoying the scenery under the moonlight. On the inside, he frantically tried to remember if he had stored his gloves elsewhere. _"My pants pocket!"_ a gleam of hope struck the colonel as he pushed his subzero hands into his pants pockets. Quickly as hope came, it immediately dissipated when Roy could only distinguish the brush of his cold digits against the grey cotton cloth of his pants.

All at once, shivers crawled up his spine and settled in his throat, like a huge lump of anxiety that obstructed his voice. There was nothing. Nada. No gloves. Roy had produced nothing. Roy Mustang, the same person who could burn an army of immortal soldiers with a snap of his fingers, who could obliterate a homunculi armed with a rusty lighter, _the_ one-and-only flame alchemist couldn't even make one measly little campfire. The irony was sickening, yet somehow appropriate. How fitting, that the man who had so foolishly proclaimed himself "king of the desert" merely an hour, supposedly unstoppable against a dry day, couldn't even produce a damn spark to stay warm. " _Useless, as usual"_ he chided himself.

Roy allowed himself a quick glance at his youngest subordinate before ducking his head own. Horror and distress shone brightly in his eyes, and though the boy would never admit it, there was a brief undertone of disappointment as well. Roy took a deep breath. He had failed. He had failed his comrade, he had failed flame alchemy, and worst of all-he had failed himself. And now they were going to freeze to death.

"So no gloves then?" Fullmetal asked, breaking Roy out of his depressed reverie. Roy snapped out of his sad state looking up at Edward. His soft, gentle tone had taken Roy by complete surprise. The tiniest dab of concern was laced in to his words, but they were astonishingly not accusatory. It was completely different from his loud, violent outbursts that had nearly deafened Roy only a few hours ago. He darted his eyes away from Edward's face- he wished he hadn't looked. Edward was a wreck. It wasn't in the way his once-ironed dress shirt had more creases than a crumpled piece of paper, or the way his automail leg looked like it had been smashed against a concrete pillar, or even the way his pants had a thousand tiny tears. It was the way he carried himself from the sag of his broad shoulders to the droop of his head, which had (thankfully) caused his bangs to sweep over the defeated look in his golden eyes. Edward looked exhausted. The only way Roy was able to distinguish if they boy was conscious were the sporadic shivers that racked the boy's fatigued form. _"And whose fault was that?"_ Roy accused himself.

Roy's eyes trailed to the floor. He couldn't bring himself to face Edward. He couldn't bring himself to crush the boy's spirit, but what chance did he have?

"…No," Roy softly admitted, not daring to make eye contact. His answer was short, but conclusive. So much seriousness packed into one little word.

For a moment, Roy suspected the worse. He braced himself, waiting for Edward to snap at him. Call him useless. Say that he was a complete bastard and a sad sack of shit. Roy closed his eyes and internally flinched. Anything would be better than the silence that stretched out between them. He was far away enough from Edward so that they boy wouldn't be able to lay a hand on him, but close enough to feel the boy's burning eyes searing into his soul.

"…ok…" Edward simply replied. Roy let out the breath of air that he didn't know he had been holding in. He had expected an outburst, not an "ok." Roy shut his eyes so tightly that he could feel his optical nerves twitching in strain. He wished fullmetal would blame him and curse him out- after all, he deserved it after being so…so…so damn useless.

"Let's just go to sleep, ok?" Edward softly suggested. Roy mutely nodded. He pulled his coat closer to his shivering self, enveloping himself from the cold, whipping of the wind. He laid down against the lumpy sand, and saw fullmetal do so in similar fashion. He whine uncomfortably- he could feel the tiny grains of sand scraping against his bare back as the slid in through a torn hole of his coat. There were no good-nights, just the quiet uneven breathing filling in the silence of the dry, desert night.

Roy tried to go to sleep. _Tried_ being the operative word. Throughout the night, Roy had shifted on his side, repositioned his limbs, and tucked in his extremities a grand total of twenty-seven times. He sighed, flopping over onto his side, and tucking his legs up so that they were square with his belly button. "Stupid sand, can't sleep right," Roy softly mumbled under his breath. With every twist or shift of his limbs, Roy resolved not to make a sound louder than ten decibels, for the sake of his youngest subordinate.

The only sounds he could hear were the Edward's loud snores, which Roy swore could be heard all the way in central city. At least fullmetal was able to sleep peacefully. Roy was sure as hell not prepared to deal with an angry, sleep-deprived fullmetal first thing in the morning. He watched the boy's back contort with each breath when suddenly an almost inaudible wine escaped Edward's throat. Roy's breath hitched in worry.

"Fullmetal?" Roy called out. An unrecognizable tone was embedded in his words. It was worry.

No response. For a full minute there was nothing but the hush whirring of the wind. The desert was so quiet Roy almost felt silly, and thought himself to have imagined the whole ordeal- when another faint whimper slipped out of Edward's lips.

"Fullmetal?" Roy called out again, more confidently. Huh, so the boy wasn't asleep, after all. But if Edward had heard him, he gave no indication and continued to lay in the sand with his back still facing Roy.

"Edward!" Roy sharply barked. The antennae on Ed's head twitched, reflecting his annoyance. Roy grinded his teeth together- so the brat was ignoring him?

"Edward. Tell me what's wrong. Now." The painstaking journey through all that sand had completely rubbed off Roy's patience. He grinded his teeth so hard that he could practically feel his enamel rusting away. Cursing senseless obnoxious teenagers and their stubborn ways, Roy finally pried himself up from the sand and dragged his feet towards the sand so he could scold his youngest charge for his stupidity.

"I asked you a question fullmetal!" Roy reprimanded as he stood over Edward's curled up figure.

Roy opened his mouth, readying himself to scold Ed on the importance of responding back, when the words dies in his throat. There on the sand, resembling a curled up fist, was fullmetal. His flesh knee was tucked into his chest, which securely wrapped around by his arms, which then covered the sides of face.

Noticing the silence from his superior, Edward gently lifted his head out of his arms. Pain was clearly contorted on his face- his teeth were clenched, sweat beaded down his forehead, his eyes were scrunched up so tightly not even the tiniest spec of moonlight made its way into Edward's pupils. A moment later, Ed popped open his eyes, which were dazed in obvious pain, before refocusing them to glare at Roy.

"Whaddy'ya want bastard?" Edward spat. Roy stiffened and an angry red tick mark popped out on his head. Secretly, Roy was relieved that the boy could at least talk.

"What I want, fullmetal, is for you to answer me and tell me just what the hell is bothering you," Roy replied, equally as annoyed. Ed simply glared back before muttering a small "tch" and laying his head back down at the sand.

"Well? I am expecting a response, fullmetal." Roy's tone was low and deliberate. He dropped his dangerous gaze to fullmetal, making it clear that he wouldn't leave until he fulfilled his incentive. Roy released a low, guttural growl of irritation. Dammit, why did he have to be paired with the world's most thick-headed and stubborn teenager?

Ed avoided the stinging stare of his superior and let his eyes wander down, towards the source of his agony. Roy followed his gaze down before stopping on the automail leg that seemed to be stretched out away from the rest of his body.

" _Oh,"_ Roy thought as he glanced down at the shiny, silver appendage. He had been so caught up in his own pool of misery and self-imposed failure that he hadn't noticed how frigid Ed's leg must have been, or how much discomfort it must have caused him. A familiar feeling of guilt churned in Roy's stomach before he squashed it down. " _It's fullmetal's fault for not saying anything in the first place,"_ he convinced himself.

Still, that didn't stop him from saying, "Dammit Ed! Why didn't you say anything?!" He was disappointed in Edward (and maybe even a small portion of his mind was disappointed in himself for not noticing).

"There's nothing _to_ say," Edward replied, his words holding only half of the bite it normally conveyed. "It's just cold. My automail gets cold too, cause it's metal," he snapped.

Roy sighed. It was just like in fullmetal's hard-headed nature to keep his problems bottled up inside. A limp hand pushed back his sweaty black bangs before he threw his head back in exasperation. " _When will that brat learn to rely on others?"_ Roy contemplated for a moment, before looking down at Edward's pain-stricken face.

He was one-hundred percent positive that the boy was freezing. Roy swallowed. He had a solution alright, but it was…completely, embarrassing if he had to say so himself. He debated the pros and cons in his mind, hating the fact that his rationale was winning out. There was no point delaying it, but the mere thought of it made Roy's stomach want to lurch. Roy pityingly racked his brain in concentration finding no other solutions nearly as logical as this one. He gathered up his nerves and sighed in the pure unfairness of the situation.

With a final, discontent exhale, Roy finally grew a pair, laid down, and draped his arm over fullmetal. It was fullmetal's turn for his breath to hitch in his throat. The effect was immediate: fullmetal jumped- no _flew_ at least teen feet back for staring at Roy like a deer in headlights.

"WH-WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU BLOODY PERVERT!" Edward screeched like a banshee. His voice blared so noisily that Roy thought his ears would be ringing into the next century. Ed's flaming face would've put a ripe tomato to shame. He instantly formed a protective fighting stance and glared at Roy with wrath more tenacious than the homunculus, himself.

"Look, fullmetal, it's not like that…" Roy attempted to explain before holding up his hands in defeat. He tested the waters, and cautiously took a few, careful steps forward.

Unlucky for him, Ed immediately picked up Roy's actions and aimed a fist at Roy.

"NOT ONE STEP CLOSER YOU PERVERT! I'LL BREAK OFF YOUR HANDS AND SHOVE 'EM DOWN YOUR THROAT!" Ed ominously threatened.

"Look fullmetal, I just wanted to-" Roy began before being abruptly interrupted again.

"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU WANT YOU STUPID LETCH! YOU BETTER STAY FIVE HUNDRED FEET BACK UNLESS YOU WANT TO ME TO KNOCK YOUR ASS INTO NEXT WEEK!" True as his word, Edward pulled a face of demon-like fury and aimed at Roy.

"Hey, I thought you were supposed to be in pain!" Roy remarked as he watched the boy flip around him in a feat of pure agility. His forehead creased with utter infuriation. He didn't have time for this right now!

"WELL TOO BAD FPR YOU PAL, CAUSE ME AND MY SHINY METAL LEG ARE ABOUT TO KICK THE CRAP OF YOUR STUPID PERVERT HEAD!"

"DAMMIT FULLMETAL THAT'S NOT WHAT I WAS DOING!" Roy screamed back out of sheer aggravation. This time, the boy was silent for a moment. He opened his mouth, only to have Roy heatedly snap back at him.

"Like I was saying, _oh smart one_ , I was trying to keep your ass from freezing into the human Popsicle by staying warm!" he furiously explained.

"…Warm?" Edward squeaked out as his face was still tinted a nice tomato-red.

"Yes fullmetal, warm. As in. Sharing. Body. Heat." Roy shoved as much emphasis into each word as possible. He glared at Edward with a pointed look. The mere thought of it made him want to vomit right on the sand. Honestly, where would the boy get such a ludicrous idea?

"…Oh" Ed squawked. Back to silence. Roy could acutely hear the tiny ticking of his pocket watch, indicating that roughly one minute and twenty-three, no, twenty-four seconds had passed since either of them had dare utter a sound.

"Um," Ed offered unhelpfully. He ducked his blushing face and very much dignifiedly dropped onto the grainy ground. The sound muffled his screaming.

Roy couldn't blame the boy- after all he wasn't faring any better. His face was slightly pink in the complete mortification of the situation. He stood straight as an arrow, before taking five deep breaths. " _Innnnn. Ouuuut. Innnnn. Ouuuut,"_ he mentally versed just like Hawkeye had taught him to. Collecting whatever few scraps of dignity he had left, he resolved to collapse on the sand next to Edward. He couldn't care less that he had a mouthful of sand at the moment, in fact he would've preferred in the sand could've swallowed him whole instead.

Roy lifted his face from the sand and spat out the gravel from his mouth for the second time that day. He brushed the pebbles from his face before rolling over next to fullmetal. Hesitantly, he reached out for Ed's arm, before ever-so-slightly draping it on the boy. Ed stiffened, but he didn't say anything as Roy drew him closer into his chest. Ed's face was twisted halfway between disgust and helplessness and Roy was too tongue-tied to for small talk.

The whole thing was immensely awkward. Roy was stiffer than a nutcracker, and the mechanical position of practically hover his arm over fullmetal was starting to tire out his arm. Not to mention that Ed's metal leg was digging in to the back of Roy's kneecap. Even through the layer of black leather pants, Roy still felt as if an icicle was pressed into his legs.

It was Roy who finally broke the silence. "Can you please move your leg," he gritted. "For the love of- it feels like I have goddamn frostbite!"

Ed heatedly inhaled through his nostrils. "I'll move my stupid leg, when you stop impaling your friggin' arm ino my side!" He shot back.

"Fine!" the two relinquished at the same time before Edward replaced his mechanical leg in favor of his flesh one. Roy turned his arm around to his elbow hasn't digging into the side of Edward's rib cage. Together, they lay their heads back down onto the sand before trying to get to sleep.

" _THIS POSITION IS EVEN WORSE!"_ they simultaneously monologue as they tried to get comfortable. This time, Roy's arm was slung around Edward's collarbone- squeezing the breath out of him harder than Elicia death-gripped her stuffed animals. As for Roy, Fullmetal's head was pressed so far back onto his face that he was choking on Edward's loose golden strands and his nose was pressed against Ed's sweaty neck.

"No you idiot!"

"You're going to suffocate me!"

"Are you trying to strangle me?!"

"You have the coordination of a two year old!"

…And for the better part of an hour, Roy and Edward hurled insults at each other and proceeded to try a hundred more or so abstract poses before they could finally settle on a (more or less) acceptable sleeping position. While it wasn't baking, Roy decided that he was warm enough to do without a jacket and stripped himself of his trench coat in favor of a make shift pillow. He folded the coat into fourths so both fullmetal and himself could nestle comfortable without sniffing each other's hair. He yawned and laid his head down before noticing something slightly lumpy before pulling the jacket under fullmetal's head.

"Hey!" Ed cried out, extremely irritated that someone had the nerve to interrupt his much-needed beauty sleep.

Roy laid the coat out on the ground, searching for any irregularities in the chocolate-colored coat. He felt around, taking his time to inspect ever inch of cloth before his fingers grazed an irregular bump near the seams of his neck. He pulled the coat near his face, squinting his onyx eyes as he tried to inspect the seams in pitch black darkness. At first glance there were no irregularities, and then there it was. Roy caught sight of the slightest bit of stitching that was embedded within the neck of the coat. The job was so precisely cut, that Roy would have never suspected anything odd, had it not bone for the suspicious lump near his neck. Carefully, he took the fingernails of his pointer finger and thumb and carefully grasped on to the little string and pulled. Sure enough the tread came loose along with two flaps of cloth that opened into a makeshift pouch. Carefully, he stuck his hand inside and couldn't believe his eyes.

Two brand-new whiter than snow ignition gloves, branded with his signature red flame alchemy transmutation circle winked back up at him. Behind him fullmetal gaped in disbelief. Slowly, He slipped one glove onto his right hand and relished the familiar roughness of the cloth as it fitted to his calloused hands. He slipped them both on, before looking around for anything to burn. Fullmetal happily volunteered a necktie, to which Roy placed on the ground and stood back. He experimentally snapped- all at once heat swirled in his palms before burning his fingers and releasing outwards in a flurry of red, orange, and yellow sparks. He snapped again, allowing a small, flickering, flame to catch on to the tie, before rapidly expanding into a decent campfire.

For the first time that day (or night), Roy allowed a small smile to graze his face. He turned back to smirk at an astonished fullmetal, who couldn't believe luck. The two let out a breath as they let the warmth of the flames relax warm their shivering selves. Roy laid down next to fullmetal and exchanged no words as they pressed them into each other. A hopeful grin was plastered onto Ed's face as he yawned and buried his face into the crook of his arm.

"G'night Colonel bastard," Ed recited before smacking his lips and drifting off into dreamland.

"Night, fullmetal," Roy replied as he stifled a yawn with his hand and went back to sleep.

The next day, Edward was the first to awaken, blinking before the dusty ground came into view. He moved Roy's hand and sat up, before throwing his head back and yawning. Tiny tears pricked the edge of his eyes, and Ed rubbed them out of his eyes. He stretched his arms up above his head and let them drop onto his lap. Well this was a first.

Ed cracked his knuckles and stretched, lazily. " _Normally, Al's always waiting for me to wake up,"_ Ed mused as he reclined on his elbows. During his search for the philosopher's stone, Ed would sleep at a minimum of ten hours a day in order to provide enough energy for both his and his brother's body. The resulting effect would have disastrous results when he had to stay up late or get up early (accompanied by one particular incident in which a poor newbie recruit had been fetched to wake up fullmetal. The resounding trauma the poor man received had been so bad that he promptly transferred to southern headquarters the next morning).

He allowed himself a few more seconds of laziness before he stretched and got up. The slump of the figure next to him indicated that Roy was still asleep. Grinning deviously Ed knelt by the man and pressed his mouth into Roy's ear.

"Ohhhh, colonellllll~" he sang softly as Roy stirred but didn't say anything.

"RISE AND SHINE COLONEL ASSWIPE!" Ed bellowed before promptly scampering away. The colonel didn't budge.

"Colonel?" Ed called out as Roy remained motionless on the sand. Ever so slowly, Ed approached the colonel and shook him by the shoulders. No response.

Fear overcame Ed as he shook the colonel even harder, willing him to wake up. "Colonel?" he cried out in worry.

"Colonel!" he screamed in panic as the colonel finally flopped onto his back. Sweat streamed down Roy's face and his chest heaved painfully up and down. His face burned bright red and when Ed pressed his palm against his forward, he nit back a yelp at how scorched it was.

"Colonel!" Ed cried out shaking Roy like a ragdoll. "SHIT!"

…And like a ragdoll, Roy remained motionless and barely breathing on the sandy, desert ground.


	4. D is for Deserted

A/N: BEFORE you start reading the story I just want to apologize for not uploading for so long. To be honest I was in a really bad place in my life. I had fallen into depression and it was heard to get out. I lost myself and I lost sight of what truly mattered to me. And then one day I opened up my e-mail after such a long time only to see that people had been following my story. And I remembered I had a responsibility to the people who read my story. I'm sorry it took so long to get my head screwed on straight, I'll try to be a better fan fiction author, and try to update more regularly from now on.

* * *

People in life fell in to either two categories: the dreamers and the realists.

The dreamers, well, dreamt. They looked at life through a rose colored lens, watching then days pass by in a carousel of memories. The glass was always half full, it was always going to be a great day, and as far as they were concerned, everything in life happened for a reason. A biting comment here and there, would berate them, accusing them of not knowing where to draw the line between fantasy and reality. Eventually, the amount of dreamers eventually dwindled into smaller and smaller numbers. And those who had strayed, who had seen the harsh realities of life would adapt to the brutal reality around them. The lines on their faces would harden, the childlike curiosity that once illuminated their eyes dimmed, and the passing of time was more unwelcome than nostalgic. "It was just one of those phases-" they'd claim in variations of the same old excuse. It was as if they had outgrown their optimism, as if life was always as bleak as they made it out to be. They were ghosts of their former happy selves, dead to the pleasure they once found in simplicity, and grew deader inside each day until they faded out. One day- gone! They had kicked the can, croaked, perished, whatever it was that would be chiseled onto a tombstone on a gloomy rainy day.

At least that's how _he_ saw it. He knew there was no denying the inevitable and certainly no reversing it- hadn't he witnessed the consequences first hand? As for him, he really didn't know who he was. Would it be avarice to call himself a savior of the world?

He liked to believe that he was a dreamer. After all, it had to be optimism that pushed him every crushing step forward to restore his and his brother's bodies?

Unfortunately for him at the moment, he couldn't find enough optimism to push him through every crushing step in the desert. In fact, he seemed to be suffering a shortage of it at the moment. Still, he had managed to salve some of his spirit when he spotted his ebony haired companion, shuffling aimlessly through the terrain. The circumstances in which they met were undeniably horrible. They were stranded in the middle of nowhere, population: 2 tired travelers, and he was pretty certain that there was no water in sight. Of course, he hadn't had the pick of his travelling companion, much preferring to be alongside the familiar comforts of his brother, but beggars couldn't be choosers. After wandering alone for so long, he couldn't help but greet his companion with a warm smile, finally stumbling across a familiar face.

He squashed the guilt that swarmed in his stomach when he caught sight of his companion, sweat lathered on his paler visage. His companion swept his black bangs to the side, slightly huffing in concentration. He delivered a small, reassuring smile and the boy promptly turned away, embarrassed that he had been caught staring. He knew it was horrible, being glad that he didn't have to suffer alone in this barren field of misery, and even worse to resent the person that was helplessly accompanying him. What kind of friend was he supposed to be?

" _I guess humans really are greedy creatures,"_ a voice mused in his head. The boy shook his head, before resuming to staring vacantly at the sand. The pitter of sand and gravel crunching underneath his black loafers reminded him that he had to pick up the pace. He urged his legs to push harder and with an aching creak of his bones, his legs complied. Tooth grinded against tooth as the effect of the physical strain was instantaneous: a sharp pain racked his thighs before a dull ache started to seep into his muscles. A flicker of agony sparked in his ankle joint before he bit it down with sharp bite of his lip. Still, the pain pursued its path of agony, slowly spidering up the back of his calves. His legs quivered as small bursts of pain zapped up his legs like a thousand tiny electric shocks. He experimentally wriggled his big toe, feeling the appendage twitch before popping back into place. His toes crushed uncomfortably against the restrictive rubber shoes. His shoe was starting to feel less like the comfortable loafers the cobbler advertised in his shop window and more like a thick, woolen blanket in the middle of July. Ignoring the small sauna residing in his dress shoe, the boy refocused on taking another step before he felt a cramp building in the back of his knees.

As he pitched his left foot forward, he felt his knee flare before his legs bucked precariously from under him. He bit his lips even harder to stifle the scream building in his throat, tasting the metallic taste of blood- _his blood -_ that sprouted from his lower lip. He tilted backwards a bit, and if the situation wasn't so dire, he could've laughed at how comedic he looked out-of-balance. His arms awkwardly swung out from his sides in a pathetic effort to regain his footing, before frantically swooping in exaggerated circles. He supposed that at the moment, he either looked like a graceful acrobat twisting and contorting his muscles, or a very awkward chicken propelling itself for flight (most probably the latter). His eyes landed on a stray cloud, scattered in the sky, oddly resembling half-eaten sandwich (or the backside of a very fluffy sheep. Never mind, art was never really his forte anyways), zooming out like the dusty camera's in his father's study, the sheep-butt-cloud growing farther, and farther away from him as he fell.

His backbone was the first to make contact- "Slap"-ing against the outstretched sand as the world shifted to a halt. He squinted his eyes, allowing for them to process the blues, blacks, and whites, staining his vision. He relaxed against the sand- had it always felt this firm? Oh right, he wouldn't have known, considering he hadn't taken a single break before he and his companion embarked on this haphazardly strewn survival plan. How long had he been walking now? He was willing to bet on forever.

He scrunched his eyes closed, delivering the crumbling blow to his resistance. He sighed dejectedly, feeling the hot sun glare at him before he felt a strange, blunt protrusion digging into the small of his back.

"What?" he popped his golden eyes opened before a swarm of black and orange assaulted his vision. A pale face, adorned with a catlike smile.

"Taking a break?" his companion inquired, an amused smile on his face.

Upon realizing that he had collapsed Alphonse immediately drew his knees up to his chest, ignoring the groan of his muscles when he laid his head down onto his knees.

"No, just, um," he offered, desperately looking for an excuse to cover his moment of weakness. "I'll get up now, Ling." He made to stand up, only for his legs to tremble at the effort.

"That's ok," Ling casually responded as he flopped backwards onto the sand. "All this walking has my legs aching like crazy. I could really go for some food now to. He yawned and stretched his hands over his head.

At the mention of food, Alphonse's stomach growled. Loudly.

"Gah!" he cried out in surprise as he felt his stomach muscles rumble with dissatisfaction. He quickly replaced his startled look with one of sheepishness as he saw Ling grinning up at him.

"Sorry, it's all so new. Having a real, flesh and blood human body." A wistful look filled his eyes as he recalled being stuck in a suit of armor.

"I'll bet. But I guess I shouldn't mention food again, huh?" Ling rolled over onto his belly, feeling the sand disperse under him.

Al remained quiet as he laid down again, wincing at the hot pebbles that burned his neck, before allowing the heat to cradle his delicate skin. He stared lazily at the sky, watching the seldom of clouds drift lazily across the azure sky. He closed his eyes, imagining peaceful lazy days in his childhood home of Risembool.

Peace, he would soon learn, was nearly impossible to achieve with a motor mouthed prince at his side.

* * *

"Alphonse?"

"Hm?" He had run out of strength to form comprehendible sentences.

"Do you think that this…," Ling paused, struggling to find a word that could correctly identify the furry, brown, _thing,_ that was adorned in a combination of lethal looking spikes and beige swirl patterns.

"Say, how safe do you think it would be to eat one of these?" Ling cheerfully asked. He casually pointed to the monstrosity that was firmly rooted to the ground, as if they had spotted a shiny pebble.

Alphonse gawked at the, whatever it was, that was nailed firmly to the ground. Whether it clung to the desert because of some root system or adhesive, Alphonse did not know; nor was he intent on finding out. He sickly suspected that upon pulling the creature out, they would discover some six legged thing or perhaps, some form of sliming tentacles. Or something like that.

He didn't even bother hiding his astonishment. "...I have no idea," he finally admitted. He most _definitely_ did not remember seeing such a grotesque creature in any book, much less in real life. And even if Al had read about it, he doubted he would forget such a disgusting and disturbing description anytime soon. The more he looked at it, the more Alphonse grew certain that it belonged in a tasteless horror novel or a child's nightmares.

"Maybe it's best that we don't chance it," Alphonse offered in a small voice. Under normal conditions it would have been sage advice that any human endowed with a shred of common sense would adhere to. To a Xingese prince, however, it did no such thing.

"Well, we'll never know if don't find out," Ling laughed as if they were about to embark on a picnic rather than uproot a possibly poisonous desert monstrosity. "Onward to it then," he said, unsheathing sword.

A chorus of "Ling no," and "please stop" fell deaf onto Ling's ears as he experimentally parried his sword and approached the desert thing.

"Ling wai-" Alphonse wailed, but if the prince had heard him than he had cheerily tuned him out. Bracing himself, he stood back a foot and swung the steel sword up with ease. A whine of protest died in Alphonse's throat as he stood mesmerized by the fluid movements of Ling's fighting stance.

There's rarely a breeze in the desert, but Alphonse could've sworn that strands of Ling's hair was whipping back slowly all at once. All at once, the quiet "shh," of the wind was thunderous in his ears, and silver steel slashed through the air, the melody of blade and breeze aligning in perfect harmony. Transfixed, Alphonse could only watch as the sharpness of the blade was deftly greeted by a needle so pointed that the ends were no thinner than the width of his own fingernail. The needle's endeavor was fruitless- it was no match for Ling's precise swipe which cleanly split the spike down the middle, spraying bits of translucent sanguine liquid into the air. Still, the sword continued to charge mercilessly into the creature, puncturing its green grotesque covering with an ever so sickening " _squelch."_ It tore into flesh and spun into a full one-eighty before it came out clean on the other side of the creature's carcass. The top, of its cranium came sliding clean off: needles and all.

All at once, Al was breathless and could feel the contractions of his lungs as it pumped more fresh air than ever before. When the harshness of the bitter wind whipped his face, he gladly welcomed the pleasant coolness against his sweaty skin that followed.

"...phonse," a blurry voice called out to him. He ignored it, he didn't want to break the serenity that existed in this single moment of eternity; the burning sun beating down on his skin, the grainy sand shifting beneath his feet, and the hot humidness clouding his senses- he welcomed it all.

"Alphonse!" the same familiar, yet unfamiliar voice called out to him. It sounded strange but not unpleasant, the sound waves hit him as if he were underwater, and Alphonse could envision himself under the sea; not trapped but slowly sinking.

He's sinking, he's drowning, and the world outside of him is crumbling, and- "SMACK!," goes Ling's outstretched palm as it slaps the back of his head. Al coughed a little, and gingerly rubbed a sore spot on his skull. He would bring himself to glare, but he can't because he's a puppet dangling by a string, that's been suddenly jerked from a stage. Al swayed from side to side, shifting left and right, until Ling's hand latches onto his shoulder and his surprisingly strong iron grip steadies him.

"If you think my swordsmanship is amazing Al, you should see me when I chop wood. You'd faint," Ling teases.

For a moment, Al just returns a blank stare. A moment's hesitation is all it takes and the teasing smirk on Ling's face doesn't quite fall off, but slightly slips. A drop of nervous sweat threatens to break out on his face, but Al, thankfully, doesn't give him the opportunity.

"Yeah, right," Al tried to scoff, but even when he tried to look annoyed, he can't help the kind-natured tone that eventually seeped into his voice.

"Aw c'mon Al, no need to be embarrassed. After all, I _am_ a pretty handsome lookin' guy," Ling mocks. He flexes his biceps for effect, but with the sand in his hair and his ragged clothes, the end result is a cross between a hunchback and a hobo.

A snort escaped from Al's mouth, followed by little peals of laughter. "Cut it out," he managed to choke out in between laughs.

"What. a guy can't flaunt his goods every now and then?," Ling puffs out his chest and pushes his arms behind his head and leans out so far, he oddly resembles a piece of elbow macaroni. "As you do know," Ling exaggerates every word in a mock sophisticated tone, "I am _the_ perfect of specimen of men's health." This time he bends out one knee, not-quite-kneeling, and places his hands by his hips.

Al couldn't help himself, collapsing into giggles. He could give Alex Armstrong a run for his money.

Al didn't give Ling the praise of a thank you, but strangely enough, Ling still smiled and murmured a "welcome," as if he had. He accepted his portion quietly tipping his head down into the barest hints of a nod. A small sigh of contentment escaped Al's lips as he tipped the shell into his mouth and allowed the sweet liquid to trickle down his parched throat. He greedily savored every drop that coated his chapped lips and wetted his barren mouth. His brain screamed at him to slow down but his hands ignored the command, choosing to hold the canteen of water slowly in its place.

Quicker than a dart, a pale hand shot out and roughly snatched the water from him. Al but his lips to suppress a cry that was threatening to burst.

"Easy there, big guy," Ling reassured as he held the canteen away from Al. Al formed the words on his tongue but the only thing that escaped his mouth was a small wheeze.

"I' m f-" Al bent over and started to wheeze. " _I'm fine,"_ he struggled to utter. And then pain flooded Al's senses.

It was like nothing Al had ever experienced before. His lungs desperately contracted and Al could've sworn that they were on fire. Every gasp for air was like breathing in a torrent of prickly ashes; embers that scratches the sides of his throat before settling in his lungs. His nose felt full, like a dam on the verge of bursting- it left a sharp throbbing sensation against his skull. He blinked, allowing the tears crinkling on the edge of his eyes to drip into the hollowed crevices of his cheekbones before slowly blurring his vision. The sand and sky collapsed into a murky array of blues and goldens that were too vivid for Al's eyes.

" _SMACK!"_ Al gasped as a slap of pain cut across his cheek. Like a fish freshly plucked from the sea, his mouth hung open. The pin stunned him for a few seconds before stumbled to regain his composure.

"Alphonse! Are you ok?" Ling asked, worry reflected in his eyes.

"What?" Al asked, still unsure of what was going on.

"Sorry, I had to slap you. You weren't saying anything" Ling apologized.

At the mention of the slap, his right cheek throbbed in response. He traced his sore cheek with is fingertips, wincing at the slight burning sensation.

"That's ok," Al responded. "What happened?"

"You," Ling paused, unsure how to describe what just happened. "You spaced out," he ultimately decided on.

"Sorry," AL reflexively responded. He couldn't help but think about all the times he had been passed out as a suit of armor. _"You're not in that body anymore. You're fine,"_ Al reminded himself, putting his tensions at ease. "I'll try not to space out from now on," Al affirmed.

"Hey, no sweat" Ling chuckled. "It's probably just the heat." Al nodded, mostly to reassure himself. He ignored the lightheartedness in his skull, and the foul taste slowly spreading across his tongue.

* * *

An hour later, after the two were in decidedly better moods once their thirst was quenched, Alphonse found himself falling into decent small talk with the prince. And by small talk, he would mostly tune out Ling's bantering, before responding with a half

"I saw a big bear wearing overalls," Ling slurred.

"What? What bear?" Al looked around warily, reassuring himself that it was Ling and not him, who had just went insane.

"I asked, if you are ok" Ling enunciated, as if he were speaking to a five year old.

"Oh" Al ducked his head to hide his blush. "Yeah, I'm fine"

"That's a relief," Ling sighed. He snatched the bottle out of Al's shaking hands. Feeble protests immediately followed. "Sorry, but I'm confiscating this." Ling offered an apologetic smile. "Having that much liquid could be bad for you" he advised. Al tried his best not to strangle him, as Ling took a swig from the cacti.

"Tastes pretty sweet!" Ling exclaimed before taking another lengthy sip. "Not bad." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before rubbing it on his pants. The intricate dragon design on his pants pocket sagged in protest as it was smeared with liquid. "Ahh that hits the spot." He smacked his lips and grinned, before throwing what was left of the creature/plant/organism/whatever-in-truth's-name-it-was onto the sandy ground.

Content and no longer parched, Ling swung his arm around Al, happily invading his personal space. If Ling noticed how Al had stiffened under his touch, he ignored it.

"Ya know when I first saw that thing, I was positive it would taste like crap," Ling cheerfully confessed. "I mean I had some pretty weird things in your country, but this tops it!" Al murmured something unintelligible in response, tugging on the end of his blazer.

Ling carried on with all the merriness of a drunkard, dragging Al (who maintained the rigidity of a nutcracker) all the while. "I mean, your country had a _homunculus_ for a leader, but this!" He paused to chuckle. "This is something else, buddy!" He hooted.

"Hey, why don't we go look for more of these? We can even cook them and eat them!" Ling suggested, a crazed twinkle in his eye.

" _What are you, insane?"_ Al opened his mouth to reply- only to shut it a moment later, already knowing the answer.

"Ling, we can't cook these" Al replied, ready to tear his hair out. "We don't even know what these things are."

"Who cares? They're delicious!" He grinned. "As Emperor of Xing, I declare this my first decree! All citizens must drink from the eternal fountain of the… great sand creature!" He posed heroically and puffed his chest out, emphasizing his order.

Alphonse opened his mouth to reply only to stop short when he saw something rise from the sand. Al gasped as it as it started to take form, the grain of sand slowly rising and clumping together to form feet. More and more sand, flew together until it had assembled into a massive stomach, and continued on to form a large, furry back. Al gaped when he noticed the creature to start to grow long pointed claws, no doubt capable of shredding him like paper. Rounded ears began to form, followed by a semi-elongated snout that darkened in color. Each particle seemed to align perfectly, forming tiny ripples of fur, to a touch of dew on the creature's snout.

" _Wait a second- is that a bear?"_ Indeed it was, as it ruffled its head. But the bear did not simply stare at Alphonse, opening his mouth and letting out a loud roar that rang in Al's eardrums. Its hind legs arched slowly, he seemed to grow taller yet, slowly rising up to its full length as it pushed itself to stand. It took a step the size of a car, calmly walking towards Alphonse.

"And it can walk?!" Al cried in surprise, not caring that he had voiced his thoughts out loud.

The bear strode over to Al, looming down on the boy with his immense figure. Sand flew from the ground covering his immense body. It formed some sort of covering that materialized over the bear's legs all the way up its belly until two thin straps formed over his shoulders. Vaguely, Al recognized the ruffles of cloth as two shiny buckles connected the pants together into " _Overalls? Wait, What the heck?"_

The beast thumped with every heavy step, leaving a trail of giant paw prints. The corners of its mouth slowly stretched to each side,revealing a neat row of pearly white teeth the size of pocket knives. Al braced himself and formed a tight fist and locking in his frail body. Inwardly he panicked at the sight of the bear's sharp claws and it's pointed incisors.

To his surprise, the bear contorted his mouth into what was an acceptable grin. "Hello there, Alphonse! And how are you today?" the bear greeted. He stuck out one of his furry paws to shake.

"YOU TALK?!" Al exclaimed. He stood there, gaping dumbly, before a grain of sand flew in his mouth and caused him to choke and sputter.

"My, My" the bear grinned. "Aren't you going to shake my hands?" the bear inquired. Al gazed at the bear's paw haphazardly. The last time his brother had egged him to shake any animals paw, he had immediately been bitten and then chased around by a furious fox and a disgruntled zookeeper.

"It would be impolite not to," the bear chided.

"Oh, right," Al rectified, eagerly shaking the bears hairy paw. _"Yes Alphonse, shake hands with the giant carnivorous grizzly bear. There's no way this could go wrong at all."_ Reprimanding himself for his manners, Al pulled away from the bear's paw after he had thoroughly shook it.

"Now, then. On to introductions. As you may know, I'm Mr. Snuffles. And you must be Alphonse Elric," Mr. Snuffles introduced.

"Hold on...I recognize that name..." Al squinted his eyes as he shifted through fifteen solid years of memory.

 _"Big Brotha, look what mama make me!" a baby Alphonse giggled. He proudly held the sown stuffed bear his mother had made for his third birthday close to his chest. His mother had crafted the overalls from one of Alphonse's old baby outfits, and added a patch of cloth from his old checkered shirt to its stomach._

 _His older brother glared. "No fair! I wanna play with that!" Ed pouted, snatching away the bear. Al threw a tantrum as his elder brother held his teddy high above his head, where he couldn't get it. In the end, his mother had given Edward a well deserved time out and made a teddy bear for edward, identical, sans for the patch of cloth._

"No way! You can't be real! You're a figment of my imagination!" Al yelled, dismissing the giant bear. "Besides, brother and I burned you in the fire, with the rest of the house," he quietly added.

The bear cocked his large head and continued to smile. "Does it matter?" the bear replied in a curious tone.

"Of course it matters! I'm going crazy!" Al shouted.

In an instant, the bear's visage changed into pure seriousness. "What's real or not real isn't important," the bear warned in a resolute tone. "Your friend over there is in severe danger."

Al sighed, accepting his apparent insanity. _"Well, I suppose I have nothing left to lose."_ "Who Ling?" Al replied. He turned around, and saw that Ling was giving orders and threatening to exile a stray pebble.

"Yes," the bear affirmed. "Your travelling companion is in mortal danger. He seeks to find and eat the other cacti, yes?" the bear inquired.

"Last time I checked, I think so." Al shifted his wary gaze to the remains of the hideous cacti- _"so that's what it was."_

 _"_ You must prevent your friend from consuming any more cacti. If he does, he will anger the most fearsome and powerful creature- Prickly the Unpleasant!" the bear's voice boomed.

"Wait, WHO?" Al asked in dismay.

"Prickly the Unpleasant! And he will inject you with a venom so dangerous, that your friend will perish right where he stands!" the bear warned in terror.

Seemingly had enough with this insanity, Al throw his hands out in the air. "This is crazy! _I'm_ crazy! There is no such thing as Prickly the Unpleasant!" Al ranted.

"But it is true! And if you do not warn your friend about Prickly the Unpleasant, I am afraid you will lose him" the bear patiently advised. To that, Al turned around, not bothering to reply.

"At the very least, you should prevent your friend from eating any more of those strange cacti, yes? They do not look safe to eat."

At that. Al turned his head slightly. "...OK. Tell me what I need to do" Al said, determination flooding his eyes.

Impossibly, the bear's grin grew even larger. "Well, my friend..."

* * *

The vultures sighed. Was it really so hard to find some acceptable prey? They looked down at the skinny boy, nodding and seemingly talking to the wind, and another boy who was enthusiastically scolding some rocks. They flew off, in search of better food.


	5. E is for Endure

A/N: I'm back from the dead, everybody! It's been a process, that's for sure. Depressions is like at the back of your closet; it lingers in your mind, and from time to time, you think you should even open the door and address it, but it continues to rot in that dark, decrypted space. Anyways, I'm trying to set up a schedule for my updates. Basically I'm trying to write 1000 words on every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Then, I could churn out a story every two weeks? I don't know, really. I'm not abandoning this project at all- it just takes me some time to get in the right mindset. Also thanks for being such a supportive lot! I really, really, really, appreciate every review, favorite, etc. Like those give me strength in the morning to get out of bed. The comments were just so sweet and I read every single one of them. OK, on with the story.

E is for Endure

A potent aroma lazily swirled in the air and floated into his nostrils. It slinked past his nasal cavity and up into his skull, curling around his brain like a spoiled house cat. His mind was foggy, his vision clouded. His pupils were dilated and a bright- too bright- swarm of colors beat down on his sensitive eyes like a swarm of wasps. He moaned and squeezed his eyelids shut, welcoming the enveloping darkness.

His voice was scratchy from its lack of use. When he cried out, it grated painfully like broken glass. An uncomfortable itch had settled in the back of his throat. Dry and biting, it filled his throat with fire.

"Water, water," he begged pathetically. He heard his voice, but knew it not. His sensitive ears strained to pick up the soft creak of wood beneath him. Very faintly, he thought he heard a distant thump. Was it his imagination? He didn't stick around to find out as his eyes fluttered close. 

Line break

He opened his eyes. A blinding blue sky met his tired retinas. A fluffy cloud drifted across the sky. His head rattled, and he felt like a puppet being jerked in the hands of a careless child. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head tentatively. "Shit!" He cried when he felt a sharp sting on his right palm. He held up his hand and cursed softly when he saw the tiny wooden splinter that had managed to lodge itself in his palm.

He was in a wooden cart, and when he peered out he saw a short man who was carefully steering two massive horses. He slowly took in the green hills that rolled further into the landscape.

"Where the hell am I?" He rubbed his sleep eyes.

"We're almost there," a voice replied. Upon hearing his subordinates voice, Roy sighed in relief and looked over his shoulder.

"Fullmetal?" Indeed it was, the boy sat in a corner, with his broad back facing him. He looked fine, at first glance. But then, Roy noticed how his hair was cropped short at his shoulders? "Fullmetal would rather chop off another limb than his hair!" Roy knew first hand how possessive the boy was about his long hair. Despite the frequent grumbles from higher ups that the boy should have been given the traditional crew cut, fullmetal would transmute a spear if anyone so much as mentioned a barber. Roy had tried enforcing the rule himself, but when he found himself issuing the order, he realized he didn't give a damn. After all, with the combat boots, leather pants, and that gaudy red shroud, long hair was the least of Roy's concerns.

"So I see you had time to drop by at the barber's," Roy stated, attempting to break the silence. Ed merely continued to look at the lush green plains that dipped up and down like an ocean of grass.

"Of course, it's not half-bad, if you like looking like you're attending primary school." There wasn't actually any malice behind his words, but Roy smirked and waited for the upcoming outburst. He feigned casually inspecting his fingernails as he peered at his subordinate through the corner of his peripheral vision. After another minute or so of silence, he frowned. So fullmetal didn't want to exchange small talk? Fine, that was just fine with him. "I'm a colonel, not a therapist," Roy reminded himself.

"Any idea where we're headed?" Roy prodded. Silence. A tick mark bloomed on his usually impassive visage.

"Fullmetal, I order you to tell we where the hell we're going!" Roy barked. Slowly, as if he was afraid to even look at Roy, Ed swiveled himself just barely enough to show half of his face. A shadow loomed over his golden eyes, obscuring his expression. "Don't you know? We're going to where it all began," he replied in an almost inaudible voice.

Roy tensed, not missing the strange hitch in his subordinate's voice. No sooner than he finished his sentence, Ed immediately swiveled back into a crouch.

"Where it all began?" Roy asked. His inquiring tone conveyed his perplexity.

"Bang!" All of a sudden the cart lurched violently, and Roy found himself being launched from his seat. "Smack!" Roy groaned as his face made contact with the wooden panels of the cart. He groaned and felt a strange trickling sensation hit his parted lips. He reached out and gingerly touched his face. Sure enough, a thin stream of blood flowed copiously from his throbbing nose. The horses clambered onto their hind legs, neighing frantically. Roy carefully grabbed onto the sides of the cart as the cart rocked back and forth like a branch in the wind.

"Fullmetal, are you injured?" he called out. If Edward heard him, he didn't bother to respond. Roy whipped his head around. "Dammit, fullmetal, we don't have time for this shi-" The cart was empty, as of Roy had been talking to himself the entire time. "Fullmetal? Get your short ass over here now!" Roy commanded. Beneath him, the cart driver furiously whipped the horses that bucked savagely. "I'll be sure to pay you when I get back," Roy called over his shoulder as he spotted some well worn stirrups. He clutched onto the leather strips as he carefully, lowered himself to the ground. He swayed like a pendulum as the cart continued to tremor, and violently smacked against the hardwood, before he finally felt his black boots graze solid ground. "Like hell I would've stayed on that rickety deathtrap."

Roy swept the back of his military jacket for any wooden filaments and winced at the tiny splinters embedded in his palms. He looked up from his palms and narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing his surroundings. "Could this be-?" his eyes scanned the familiar crop fields and dirt path. "No, it can't be," he reassured himself.

But then his eyes widened at the uphill pathway and the stone fence. Meanwhile, the cart driver desperately whipped the reins up and down and muttered obscenities under his breath.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. These stallions are normally so tame. I assure you, I'll give 'em a whippin' so severe, they'll be quieter than a pair of mice," the cart driver apologized.

"It's fine." Roy had already started his trek uphill.

Line break

By the time that Roy had finally managed to climb uphill, he was certain of two things. One, that he would never, ever, again complain about the smog of Central City if it meant goddamn cars; and two, that he would wring Fullmetal's neck as soon as he got his hands on him. In front of him was a traditional country house that had certainly seen better days. The white paint peeled and the roof was short a couple of red shutters.

Roy stepped over the termite-ridden stairway of the front porch. He rattled his knuckles against the flimsy wooden door. Chips of green paint dusted his knuckles when he pulled back his hand. He stared across the front lawn, a miniature jungle with all the dense weeds and dead insects. A huge tree, which might have bore apples at one point, loomed over the lawn with it's naked, curling branches. Two strands of weathered rope attached to a rickety plank hung off on of the branches.

"Must've belonged to a family" Roy noted. When the door wouldn't give, Roy kicked the door down. A cloud of dust immediately greeted him. "Damn dust's in my eyes," Roy spluttered in between coughs.

He took another step forward when a sudden squeak sounded from under his feet.

"Who's there?!" he shifted into a defensive stance. He looked down, and a soft, plush bear grinned a little too happily back at him. "False alarm, just some stupid toy" he reassured himself, ignoring the heat blossoming in his cheeks.

"Squeak."

"Was that a mouse?" Roy thought. He wouldn't be surprised if there was a rat infestation.

"Squeak, squeak"

"Definitely not a mouse" he corrected himself. The sounds were more mechanical than animal.

"Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak," the squeaks increased in intensity, grating like nails against a chalkboard. Louder they grew- "squeak, squeak, squeak," louder still- "squeak, squeak, squeak," louder, louder, louder, "squeak, squeak, squeak," they screeched like the howls of tortured animal being ripped to pieces, "squeak, squeak, squeak." Roy couldn't take it anymore he covered his ears, but even through his hands, he felt every squeak pierce his flesh.

"SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK"

His skull was going to split open, Roy was sure of it. Noise scraped his sensitive ear canals like the pointed ends of a cleaver.

"SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQEUA-"

Silence.

A minute after the squeak had ceased, Roy still had his hands pressed against his ears. The absence of noise was so clear and vivid, like the fresh wails of a newborn. He released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

He shot an uneasy look at pristine, white door, that looked as untouched to the rest of the house like a patch of snow against slush. That had to be it, the source of the ungodly sounds. If he looked back on that instance, he wouldn't have known why he knew that the noise came from behind the door, but he just did.

He twisted the golden knob to the right, pulling the door back. His fingers were spotless. "Huh, no dirt," he noted.

Roy swallowed. Of course there was a long, dark set of stairs waiting for him. He grasped the narrow sides of the passage looking for a light switch. A dusty, light bulb hanging overhead flickered, once, twice, before illuminating the stairs with a dull, incandescent glow.  
Roy hurried down the stairs. He wasn't sure how long the light bulb would last. The stairs groaned under his weight. A musty smell, like old newspapers, lingered in the air.

The stairs flashed. "Did I just blink?" No, there it was again. The staircase was swallowed in darkness before being spat out just as quickly.

"Shit!," he cursed. "Damn light bulb's giving out!" He rushed down the stairs, the light around him feebly flickering.

"How far do these stairs go?" Roy panted. It was as if the staircase had a mind of their own and were increasing in length just to toy with him. All around him rays of light were snuffed out of existence just as quickly as they came.

Ten more steps! The lights flickered on and off even faster.

Nine. The light stayed on longer than usual.

Eight. Roy gasped for breath, his eyes clinging on the dull glow.

Seven. "An entire three seconds. That's a new record,"

Six. Roy had spoken too soon. The light had receded, leaving behind an empty, vacuum of darkness. 

Five. Roy's foot caught onto a splinter. He stumbled and went airborne.

FourThreeTwoOne. He landed on the solid cement with a heavy thump.  
"Dammit!" For once, Roy was glad to be all alone. If Fullmetal saw, he was sure that every bulletin board in HQ would have a tacked up blown-up Roy, mid-trip.

He pulled himself of the floor. "Nice," he said between gritted teeth, "real nice." One of the sleeves on his navy blue uniform has a hole wide enough t stick in two fingers. "Damn coat must have ripped when I fell."

A tiny sob halts his train of thought. He sees it now, much too vividly. A child, no older than eleven is hunched over. When the child quivers, Roy can see the skin stretch taut against their ribs, curved bones jutting out like a bubble on the verge of bursting.

"It can't be."

That golden hair.

"No way."

That metal arm.

"It's not-"

Those eyes. The eyes that seared into him like a red-hot poker.

His voice was alien.

"It is."

Edward was a monstrosity of metal and man. Not only did automail plates cover his arms but wrapped around his shoulders, digging into his skin. His fingers were human. His index fingers were as straight as arrows, but his thumbs looked like they'd been yanked backwards like a lever that's been cranked in the wrong direction. His pinkies were nubs. Roy saw teeth marks at the small, red stump. A voice he did not know wondered if Edward chewed it off while he was writhing in pain, half to death. His torso was another story. Parts of what Roy assumed was once a broken wheelchair intersect in and out of Edward's abdomen. The metal was twisted but the placement was precise, as if the wheelchair was a string of silver thread stitched into the boy's body.

"Fullmetal!"

Edward didn't even spare a glance.

Roy shrugged off his military jacket and gently draped it over his broken subordinate. The navy blue fabric shrouded his skeletal body like drapery. Roy slipped a hand under his bony back and lunged upward to lift him up, only for the two to crash onto the floor. His subordinate was impossibly heavy. Roy wrapped his arms around Fullmetal's waist and pushed up. His efforts were futile.

"You can't," Edward said in a small voice.

Roy tried to pull fullmetal off the floor I can't. "The hell I can't," Roy huffed.

"But you can't," Edward repeated.

"What the hell do you mean?" Roy growled at the boy. But he can't, not when heavy chains are locking Ed into place. The silver chains were brutally bound to Ed's neck, but tied off elegantly like a bow. Roy pulled at the chains, but they only tightened around Ed's neck.

"Fitting isn't it?" Edward brokenly laughed.

"Fullmetal, enough of this victim bullshit. If we don't get this chains off you, you are going to bleed to death before we get to the nearest hospital, do you understand?" Roy clawed at the chain, his fingernails torn and bloody.

"It was only a matter of time," Edward wheezed. "It was stupid of me to think that it wouldn't catch up to me."

"That what wouldn't catch up to you?" Roy demands.

Edward said nothing but he turned his head. His eyes stared vacantly behind him. Roy abandons the metal chains to follow Ed's empty gaze.

It's a watch. Silver and shiny, Roy doesn't even have to let his eyes linger for more than a moment; he's all too familiar with the geometric dragon circumscribed within a hexagon, etched onto the stainless surface.

Fullmetal was right, it is rather fitting. Realization strikes Roy hard and cold, like a splash of frigid water. "It's a collar," he numbly processes. "A collar for a dog."

The watch. Edward. His automail.

"Not just a dog," Edward taunted.

"A dog of the military." Roy realized.

"No." Edward snarled. "Your dog."

Page Break  
"I'm not your dog!"

Laughter. Footsteps.

"Get off me kid!"

Clouds of incense, a coiled snake.

"Stop that annoying brat!"

And shouting. Derisively, more shouting.

If Roy had been the type of man who slept in, he would've buried his head under a solid layer of pillow. Luckily, two grueling years bunking at military school with two hundred other teenage boys in a "military barrack," which was essentially four big pieces of cardboard held together with staples, dutifully prepared him for this moment. Unluckily, his two minutes inside an unfamiliar log cabin, which was essentially four medium size pieces of cardboard held together with tree sap, lacked pillows. Or any such bedtime comforts for that matter.

When Roy awoke- quite grumpily- cracking the crick in his neck, he noted his makeshift blanket was a wrinkled suit jacket. He yawned.

He opened his mouth. "Hhhhhhhh," he screeched.

Roy gagged, massaging his tender throat. "Haven't heard a voice crack like that since I was sixteen."

He sat up, taking in the sparse space, how the weary wooden planks wanted to collapse on him. The shack was not illuminated but pinpricks of sunlight dotted the floor though holes in the wood. Roy stretched.

"Clunk." Roy had banged his hand against a wooden bowl. Wetness seeped into his hand. He relished the cool liquid running over his aching fingers.

Wetness?

"Hhhhhh!" Roy gasped (which, for all intents and purposes, probably meant "water!").

He scooped the wooden serving bowl and tipped it toward his mouth. Immediately a gush of sweet liquid doused his dry mouth, Roy could feel the cells on the back of his throat soaking up the liquid like a sponge.

Just as quickly as the liquid soothed his throat, a river of nirvana, it abruptly dried up. A coffee colored hand, wrinkled like a raisin, snatched the wooden bowl of his lips. Roy shook a weak fist at the hand, infuriatingly showering expletives at the owner behind said hand. The hand, and by extension, the owner, paid no mind.

"Easy now. You'll drink yourself sick", an older woman chided.

Her skin, the color of freshly fallen chestnuts, contrasted the hard lines of her hands. He followed the spiderweb of her sinuous veins to her surprisingly youthful face: plump, pink lips, a ruddy nose, and... _red eyes._

 _Red eyes._

Roy was not a stranger to the looks. A newbie officer, fresh out of the academy? That hadn't warranted any glances. But a newbie state alchemist who could set a building ablaze with a snap of his fingers? The envious gaze of his comrades swarmed him like fleas on a dog.

He felt like an ant under a magnifying glass

Then the war happened. 

This time people stared too, but for different reasons. Setting a building on fire? He might as well be playing with matches. But setting an entire village on fire? "Flame Alchemist," indeed. Once the envy of fellow officers, he was subjected to their pitying glimpses. He hated pity most of all.

" _Look how far you've fallen, Roy,_ " they sighed. " _You have been forsaken_."

Strangely enough, he prefered the way the hateful glances of Ishvalans. While the Ishvalans were not known to be a particularly theatrical race, Roy had always thought the red was fitting.

Every emotion was more vivid in red. It was always the same emotion: hate. And yet it was retold a thousand different ways in a thousand different smoldering, red gazes.

" _Scum!"_ or " _Animal!,"_ or " _Monster!"_

Each eye a message, captured in red.

A thousand red eyes, as precious as rubies, and as worthless as pebbles.

Red. At morning, torching school yards, red. At evening, taking roll call, red.

Suddenly, brown.

They had lost the candid curves of youth given way to the bitter edge of age.

 _The eyes of a killer._

"Hello, major Mustang," she greeted him, all courtesy, no cordiality. "Long time no see."

Her voice was cold.

He dared to peer at her face.

Her eyes were warm, the inviting amber of his youth, the same brown of old book spines or black tea she poured in cracked china cups while they drank away the night in each other's company.

The density of that brown gaze kept the red at bay.

Her focused, tender gaze singled out among a thousand spiteful, red eyes.

He dreamt in brown that night. A sepia film of when he accidentally brushed against her hip on the way to the bathroom, her blush when he was rendered speechless at the sight of her in a short, blue skirt.

Red gave way to brown.

Page break.

Same eyes, but a different look.

The woman didn't hold her gaze. Her eyes flickered briefly over his ratty clothes before darting to the water glass.

"Got a name?"

" _Roy-"_ he snapped his mouth shut. " _A state alchemist in Ishvalan territory? That'll get me killed!"_

"Maes," he amended. He shut his eyes, too tired to deal with any suspicious glances.

"Well, _Maes_ ," the woman snorted. "Perhaps you could tell me why you and your son were camping in the desert without proper equipment."

"My son?" Roy stiffened.

The woman raised a brow and hiked her thumb out a window. He followed her finger out of the shack and onto a patch of dirt where Ed was prying a little girl off his neck.

"Oh, yes," Roy smoothly revised. "How is... _he?"_ " _Ed might be using a fake identity, too."_

"The boy's fine," the woman answered.

" _Damn,"_ he thought. " _No name."_ Roy parried a few questions, hoping the woman would refer to Ed by anything other than "that boy," but the woman was adamant not to give away too many details.

Roy coughed. "Do you mind if I see him? Oh god, I'm so worried about... the poor kid…" Ry coughed again, and smothered the woman with his best obviously-concerned-parent look.

She sighed, got up and barked something unintelligible outside the door.

"Alright, get off me!" Ed screamed. With a parting giggle, the little girl climbed off his back with all the limber grace of a monkey and scampered towards the other children.

Ed shuffled inside.

"You look...healthy," Roy settled on as he eyed Ed's strange attire.

He wore a simple white kaftan on top and baggy, brown pants. A black and red striped sash ran over his shoulder.

What to make of a military dog in Ishvalan clothes?

" _Playing dress up?"_ Roy thought.

"Hi _dad,"_ Ed's familiar, grating tone greeted his ears.

" _Or playing pretend?"_

"Can we have some time alone?" Roy asked. The woman glared at him. " _No,"_ her eyes screamed. "Sure," she replied, gathering her things in a straw basket.

The woman neatly exited the little shack, but it still shook as if she had slammed the door behind her.

"Camping trip, huh?" Roy smirked.

Ed violently blushed. "Shut up! It was all I could think of." He crossed his arms, returning a surly gaze.

Roy smirked. "Whatever you say, _son."_

This time the shack shook violently as Ed viciously slammed the wooden door.

Page Break

"It doesn't fit right," Ed whined, fiddling with his sash. Roy slapped his hands away.

"Shit!" Ed glared at his superior.

"Cut it out. You look fine," Roy affirmed, donning his own robes. Actually, the boy looked _more_ than fine, but Ed was as oblivious to his looks as racoons were to quantum physics. Besides, the kid didn't need a bigger head.

Even though Roy had reprimanded his subordinate for fiddling with his uniform (ahem, outfit), he couldn't help but adjust the neckline of his shirt and smooth his beige pants.

"Alright, let's go," Roy said. Ed was more than happy to step outside, and from a crack in the wood, Roy watched Ed enthusiastically flip in the air before setting off after a stray dog.

"Be careful-" Roy swallowed. " _If fullmetal trips and falls, than that's his problem."_

Feeling much too like a housewife who watches their kids through a kitchen window, Roy snapped his attention back to his clothes, straightening out his shirt. When he was satisfied, he took a breath, and exited the small confines.

He was glad there were no mirrors.

" _A wolf in sheep's clothing,"_ he thought.

Page Break

Roy inhaled deeply, savouring the fresh air. Big mistake.

He immediately doubled over and started coughing. The odor of manure and garbage assaulted his senses. The stench of something rotting was alarmingly pungent.

He surveyed his surroundings: a cluster of small wooden shacks and campsites, a gaggle of Ishvalan children playing tag, a stable, and garbage littered everywhere. There were no roads, a woman carrying a bucket over her head gracefully sidestepped tin cans and crumpled paper.

"Welcome to Lakha."

Roy turned to face the speaker, cursing when he accidentally stepped on a rotten banana peel.

"Careful you don't cut yourself," the woman cautioned, indicating several jagged pieces of broken glass. "The only antiseptic we have is decade old whiskey."

Making note of that, Roy asked, "How did I get here?"

The lines in the woman's face shifted in what Roy assumed to be surprise.

"Your boy didn't tell you?"

" _Obviously not,"_ Roy thought, shaking his head.

"He carried you on his back. He must have walked for miles. His feet were bleeding by the time he got here." The woman's eyes softened. "That's a good son you've got there."

" _Carried me?"_ The last thing he could remember was sand, and the two shivering under the night sky. And the next morning… He could vaguely remember being tired and cold. Ed had been saying something, but his voice sounded so far away and all he wanted to do was sleep…

"Damn it!"

The woman jerked away. "You're a grateful one," she sniffed.

" _I can't believe I was useless, again."_ Roy clenched his fist. " _I couldn't even stick it out for one night!"_ Seeing the incredulous look on the woman's face, Roy immediately schooled his features into a neutral expression.

"I'm still feeling under the weather today," he smiled, "sorry."

The woman stared at him long and hard. Internally, Roy squirmed under her scrutinous gaze. The last woman looked at him that way threatened to shoot him if he strayed down the wrong path.

"Huh," the woman finally commented. "Well, go on to your boy. If you need anything, just chase down one of the monkeys," here, the woman pointed to the children (Ed, included) who were wrestling in the dirt, "And ask for Maha. I'll come if I can." And with that, the woman resumed back to whatever business she came from.

"Oh," she added, "And thank your boy, while you can." Here, the woman looked forlornly at the children. Abruptly, she schooled her features back to her usual, sardonic expression, walking away.

"I will," Roy mutterred. He intended to.

Page Break

"Folks are saying that you're the new tough guy on town," Roy smirked. He watched Ed wrap his arms around a squealing little boy, before playfully tousling his white hair.

Ed grinned, relinquishing the energetic little boy from his headlock. "That a challenge, old man?"

"No," Roy said. "Actually, I wanted to discuss something else."

"You finally decided to propose to Hawkeye?" Ed flashed his shit-eating grin.

"What? No!" Roy scowled. "Lieutenant Hawkeye and I are strictly friends who value each other's professionalism" (not including, of course, the times his lieutenant had to brandish her pistol in the office when he had taken one too many "coffee breaks"). "I value my lieutenant's skills-"

"Your lieutenant?" Ed grinned.

"I feel the same way about all my men," Roy amended. At the sight of Ed's smug face he added, "including you."

"Whatever," Ed blushed.

Now it was Roy's turn to grin.

"Anyways, we need to find out where we are," Roy diverted, motioning to the lumps of garbage that stank to high hell.

"Lakha," Ed replied. "Didn't the woman tell you?" Ed replied, avoiding Roy's inquisitive eyes.

"She did. But I have no idea where this is," Roy huffed. For all the strange places Ed and Al trapised to in search of the elusive Philosopher's stone, Roy knew his subordinate must have recognized this place.

"We're in the East," Ed frowned.

Roy blanched. After spending the better part of his career stationed at Eastern Command, he was all too familiar with the dry land. It was supposed to be annexed into Amestris following the Ishvalan War, but shortly after it had escalated into a genocide, no one was willing to reclaim a desert which had became a bloody graveyard. In the end, it was laconically referred to as "Desert Area."

"There's another thing," Ed added. "This place we're in, it's a-" 

"Super!" a rough, impatient voice which could only belong to Maha's bellowed. On cue, swarms of children disentangled and ran towards the scanty shacks with as much enthusiasm as an ice cream truck.

Ed's stomach growled in reproach.

"After dinner," Roy pursed his lips.

Page Break

Dinner at Maha's was delightfully raucous for such scant company. Tentatively, Roy took a nibble out of a strange, leathery meat swimming in a yellow stew. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he dunked a strip of flat bread into the stew and wrapped it around the strange meat.

Across him, Fullmetal was chowing down on some type of lentil stew with all the grace of a hippopotamus at the Central City Zoo. ROy delivered a sharp kick to the boy under the table. Before he could realize his error, Ed had delivered an equally painful blow to his legs, using his automail foot. The two glared at each other through mouthfuls of stew.

"I didn't know dinner came with entertainment," Maha crowed. She took a dainty strip of flat bread and polished off the last bits of meat in her cracked soup bowl.

"This is an excellent meal," Roy smoothly interjected. "The spices are so...unique."

Maha laughed. "Unique. I bet city boys like you haven't ever eaten anything close to this before."

"If I may ask, what's in the stew?" Roy said as he swallowed down another piece of mystery meat.

Maha diplomatically smiled. "Snake."

Across the table, Ed choked.

Unique, indeed.

Page Break

After the... _nourishing_ … meal Roy watched the retreating backs of the children as they ran into the embraces of inviting parents.

"Reminiscing?" Maha asked. She slid next to him, and her eyes trailed over a man who picked up his daughter and spun her before seating her on his shoulders.

Roy grunted. It was hard to imagine Ed as a little boy, pawing for his mother's arms.

"Makes me wish my boy were that young again," Maha sighed.

A son? Through the haze of post-sickness delirium, Roy tried to remember the deep timbre of a man's voice.

"You have a son?" Roy asked.

"Oh yes," Maha wearrily smiled. This time, her voice dropped an octave.

"Not a day goes by when I don't think about Heathcliffe Erbe."


End file.
